


The Bodyguard

by PixelByPixel



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: And then clean-shaven Frank Castle, Bearded Frank Castle, Cameo: May Parker, Cameo: Sister Maggie, Canon-Typical Poor Life Choices, Canon-Typical Violence, Dogs, Having Faith, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, cameo: Peter Parker, cameo: karen page
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: Well, Matthew Murdock has finally pissed off the wrong people, and he has been getting death threats. When Foggy and Karen hear about it, they have one suggestion: a bodyguard. And who better for the job than Frank Castle?
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 81
Kudos: 301
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Daredevil Bingo, Fratt Week, Marvel Fluff Bingo





	1. Stick

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a [gifset by cptnmarvell @ Tumblr](https://cptnmarvell.tumblr.com/post/187281482733/fratt-bodyguardau-when-matt-starts-receiving)! It is my submission for [Fratt Week 2](https://frattweek.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> It also fills my Daredevil Bingo square for _go the distance_ , fills my Marvel Fluff Bingo square for _walking the dog_ , and fills my Bad Things Happen Bingo square for _bounty on their head_. (Whew.)
> 
> Many thanks to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/) for handholding, cheerleading, beta skills, and allowing me to use the phrase "hipster rabbi" to describe bearded Frank. :D

“This is stupid.”

Matt sat behind his desk feeling trapped by the people on the other side. Foggy, Karen… hell, they’d even called in Maggie, which felt like cheating.

“It’s not.”

Foggy had that voice, the one where he was scared but determined.

At least Matt wasn’t the one scaring Foggy. Not this time, anyway. But Foggy was scared _for_ Matt; that came through loud and clear. Matt caught that edge of anger as Foggy added, “You should have brought me in on the case.”

So: scared, determined, angry, and hurt.

“You know why I didn’t, Fogs.”

Karen scoffed, though Matt felt the jitter of her heartbeat. “Because then those assholes would be gunning for both of you and not just Matt. You had to know this would happen.”

Of course, he’d known. When Almira Lopez had come to the office asking for help, he hadn’t been able to say no. That she had come on a day when Foggy was taking a deposition and Karen was freelancing for the paper had given Matt the option of taking the case off the books. He’d known, even then, that just representing Ms. Lopez against the gang members who had assaulted her would bring about repercussions. He’d managed, through after-hours meetings and other sneaky dealings, to keep Foggy and Karen out of the loop, but everything had become a little more obvious when he won the case.

That was when the death threats had started.

“What do you think I should have done, Karen?” Matt asked, feeling his own anger rise. “Tell her, no, I wouldn’t help her get her day in court? You know that’s not how I work, how any of us work.”

Karen sighed but didn’t answer.

“Matthew, you know they won’t hesitate, and if killing you also means taking out someone else, they’ll do it.”

Guilt twisted Matt’s insides at Maggie’s words. She had a gift for that; Matt wasn’t sure if it was a nun thing or a mother thing. Still, he protested, “I can handle them.”

“Not without outing yourself as Daredevil,” Karen replied, her voice blunt.

“These men are targeting Matthew Murdock,” Maggie agreed. “If they find you and you fight them without being in your…” She made a vague sound, maybe unable to verbalize her thoughts on the Daredevil outfit.

Matt shook his head. “I can go after them tonight,” he said, though even he heard the hesitancy in his voice.

“Would you, though?” pressed Foggy, who knew him better than anyone else. “Would you really go after these guys to save _yourself?_ They haven’t targeted Karen or me.”

Matt heard Foggy’s unspoken _yet_ , but it was true. He, Matt, was bearing the brunt of the gang’s anger. Of course, he wouldn’t attack the gang to protect just himself.

The first death threat, the one that had let Foggy and Karen know what was going on, had arrived the previous morning. They really had pulled the intervention together pretty quickly, but a brick through the window was a good motivator.

But this plan of theirs was just dumb. Matt could take care of himself.

“They haven’t,” Matt agreed. “And if I go somewhere else, I could draw them off so they leave you alone. But I can do that by myself.”

Maggie drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Matt heard the small quiver in her exhalation. “Would you be willing to do what’s needed to keep yourself safe?”

Matt felt his shoulders stiffen, the muscles in his jaw tense. He knew what she was asking, and he knew the answer was no. If it came down to taking a life to save his own, he wouldn’t, couldn’t do it.

The others probably saw his silence for the answer that it was. “So that’s why we want you to do this, Matt,” Karen said. “To keep you safe.”

Matt was still all set to say no, but then Foggy grabbed the chair the clients used and dragged it around to sit next to Matt. “Please,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, but Matt could have heard it even if he’d been miles away. “Matt, _please_ do this. For me. You… you died once already.” Matt started to protest, but Foggy amended, “I know you didn’t really die, but it felt like you did. I just. I don’t think I could go through that again.” His voice cracked a little, and Matt felt Foggy’s arms around him, hugging him close; he heard the hitch in Foggy’s breathing.

Damn it. “Okay,” he said, and felt one shuddering, stifled sob from Foggy before his friend hugged him tighter and then pulled away.

“Thanks, Matty.”

“Who did you have in mind?” Because, really, Matt knew they had someone in mind. “Former cop, one of Brett’s friends?”

“No, I’ve made arrangements with someone else.” That was Karen, the brisk breeziness of her voice making two things perfectly clear: she knew Matt would object, and she didn’t care.

“Oh? Who?”

The scrape of the chair against the floor as Foggy slid out of range was not exactly encouraging. He mumbled something indistinct.

“Hm?” Matt prompted.

Karen said, her voice too-bright, “We figured if we got someone scary enough, maybe the gang would just leave you alone.”

“Who. Is. It?”

Maggie cleared her throat. “Matthew, it’s Frank Castle.”

Matt rocked back in his chair, shocked by the mere suggestion. “No.”

“Come on, Matty. You have to admit that he’s scary.”

“Fogs, he’s killed dozens of people, and those are just the ones we know of.”

“Which means he’s equipped to keep you safe.” Maggie was using her no-nonsense nun voice.

“Maggie, how can you condone this? Taking a life, it’s a sin!”

“Which you would not be committing. And if it’s a choice between you and some gang member, well.” Maggie cleared her throat, and her voice was suspiciously tight as she continued, “That’s not a choice.”

The realization of the depth of Maggie’s caring for him silenced Matt for a moment.

“Besides,” Karen added, “We’ve already paid him, which means he’s going to keep you safe whether you like it or not.”

Foggy murmured, “Let’s go with _or not_ , I’m guessing.”

Karen continued, “Go pack. He’ll meet you at your place to get you out of the Kitchen.”

“Wait, out of the Kitchen?” Matt protested. Packing was a good idea, sure, and then he’d leave before Frank got there and go hole up somewhere.

Though, well. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the occasional thought about what could happen if he got Frank Castle alone without gunfire or fisticuffs being involved.

Probably no fisticuffs.

But, still, he could take care of himself.

“To get some distance between you and your friends.” Maggie’s tone was crisp, but he felt the worry beneath it. That, more than anything else, got Matt to stop arguing. He got to his feet. When Maggie spoke again, her voice held a note of urgency, and it sounded like she’d turned her head. “Maybe somebody should -”

“I can,” Karen began, but Foggy cut her off.

“I’ll do it. I, at least, can be trusted not to swoon over Frank Castle. Uh, no offense, Sister Maggie.”

“I saw that picture from his trial, in that suit,” Maggie replied, and Matt was gripped by a full-body shudder. From what Foggy had said, he was sure Frank had some aesthetic appeal. He certainly had presence. But Matt really, _really_ didn’t need to know Maggie’s take on the matter.

“Married to Jesus, remember?”

“But I’m not blind,” Maggie replied, and then she laughed at the expression of wry amusement Matt sent in her general direction. He heard her make her way around the desk and turned to meet her. She took in a deep breath and then adjusted his lapel, probably the closest thing to a hug they were likely to share. “Be careful,” she told him briskly. “And send a text every now and then, so I know you’re still alive.”

“I will. You be careful, too.”

She scoffed. “Nobody’s after me unless you count whichever small children I’ve upset this week. I can handle them.” She gave Matt’s jacket another twitch and then left. Matt caught the edge of a murmured prayer as she closed the door behind herself. At least, he thought it was a prayer.

Karen was next. “We’ll stay in touch, too, yeah?” Matt nodded, and she added, “It will settle down. Brett will find some reason to bring in the other gang members.”

“Fine, upstanding members of society that they are,” Foggy agreed, a note of irony in his voice.

Matt caught a hint of Karen’s light, floral perfume - she wore just a tiny bit of it, not enough to overwhelm his senses, and he wondered if it was so he would know when she was near - before she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Listen to Frank. He knows what he’s doing.”

Matt nodded, though not without a flicker of resentment. He knew what he was doing, too. And he still hadn’t technically agreed to have Frank Castle babysit him. But all he said was, “Think of the story you’re going to get out of this.”

“Just come home safe.”

The floral scent faded as the door closed, and then it was just Matt and Foggy.

“You don’t have to take me home, Fogs,” Matt said as he pulled on his jacket and got his cane.

“Please. Tell me you weren’t thinking about taking off. But remember, lying is a sin.”

Matt exhaled a laugh. “Okay, I was. But I’ll go home, I promise.” Home, pack, and leave.

“I believe you.” Foggy sounded sincere and Matt thought, not for the first time, that he didn’t deserve to have such a friend. “But just let me come along, okay? So we can have a few minutes, just us.”

“But what if the gang comes after me on the way home and takes you out, too?”

Foggy made a vague noise of consideration as he got his own jacket. “I think we’ll be okay, just this once.”

“But -”

“I want to do this, okay, Matt? I don’t know when I’m going to see you again, and I just - this is happening.”

Matt knew better than to argue with Foggy when he got that particular tone of voice, so he just nodded and slipped his hand in the crook of Foggy’s arm. They left together, and Matt couldn’t help but wonder when they would be around each other again.

* * *

Frank waited in his pickup outside Red’s apartment building. Karen had called him the previous day with some story about Red pissing off a gang - no surprise there - and asked him to keep Red safe.

“Can’t he keep himself safe?” Frank had asked, knowing the answer was yes. But Karen had practically begged Frank for help, and he really couldn’t say no to her. Then Nelson had gotten on the call, and they’d talked money.

Frank had felt a little weird about taking Karen’s money, but less so if Nelson was footing the bill. Plus, he wouldn’t be able to work a paying job if he was going to be babysitting Red, who he figured wasn’t going to take it well. He needed the cash.

“Just get him away, take him to -”

“Better if you don’t know where he is,” Frank had said. “But we’ll put in some appearances so the gang will come after him.” There had been silence on the other end of the line. “That’s the point of all this, right? Me putting down these assholes? Because Red, he can look after himself - except where it comes to killing.”

Nelson had sighed. “Yeah,” he’d said finally. “Yeah, that’s the point, unless the cops put them behind bars.”

He’d sounded sad. Fucking lawyers. “They can still make things happen from behind bars. You want your buddy to be safe, they have to go.”

Foggy had agreed, which was why Frank was sitting outside Red’s apartment. They’d apparently planned to drop the whole babysitting bombshell to Red that afternoon; Frank wondered if he was going to take off. But, no, there he was on Nelson’s arm. He looked a little pissed off, sure, but that seemed to be his default. At least, that’s what Frank saw when he was around. He’d sure been pissed off the last time they’d run into each other. He’d interfered in one of Frank’s ops and they’d ended up fighting; later, Frank had been annoyed, but that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about other things he and Red could do.

It had been a while, okay?

Frank got out of his car and walked around to meet them.

“- really isn’t necessary,” Red was saying, though he cut off his words and tipped his head toward Frank. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Nelson turned, then, and his eyes widened a little. “That’s some beard.”

Frank scratched at his chin. “Guess I’m going to have to get rid of it, so people will know who I am. Didn’t have time, earlier.” While the NYPD didn’t officially take notice of his activities, rumors about him had spread through the city’s lowlifes. Frank didn’t discourage them.

“He looks like some sort of hipster rabbi,” Nelson told Red, who shook his head.

“I can’t picture it,” Red said. Smart-ass.

Nelson turned to Frank. “Matt still has to pack and then you two can go off to… wherever.”

“You won’t need a lot,” Frank told Red.

Red shrugged and turned toward the apartment, and Frank and Nelson followed.

Frank put up a hand to stop Nelson. “I got it. You don’t have to come.”

Nelson’s face did a thing and Red must have, whatever, sensed something because he turned back. Nelson stood right in front of him.

“Don’t get yourself killed.”

Red turned that know-it-all, cocky lawyer grin on Nelson. “Not this time.”

Nelson made a sound that was almost a laugh and then leaned in to hug Red. Frank turned away a little to let them pretend they had privacy, though he kept an eye out for anybody that might be gunning for Red. Finally, they moved away, and Frank followed Red first into the building and then into the apartment itself.

He flicked the light switch as Red dropped his cane on the table by the door. One light came on, but it looked like some of the other bulbs had burned out.

“Yeah,” said Red. “Sorry. I tend not to notice when they go out.”

Frank shrugged, then remembered: blind. Could Red see him shrug with those other senses? To be safe, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Red turned to his closet and pulled out a bag. “Look, you don’t need to stick around.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’ll leave. I’ll go somewhere else and make sure these assholes don’t come after Foggy - or Karen.”

Huh, Red apparently knew Frank had a soft spot for Karen. “I got paid for a job.”

“I’m not going to make you give back their money.”

Frank scoffed. “As if. But it’s about more than the money. I gave Karen my word I’d do my best to keep you safe.”

Red’s head dropped and he said a word that Frank didn’t think Good Catholic Boys were allowed to use. “And you’re a man who keeps his word?”

“You got it. I said I’d be your bodyguard, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Red sighed, and Frank couldn’t help but smile. “That’s right, Red. You’re stuck with me.”


	2. Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Frank pick up a few things and head off to their new digs.

Five minutes later, Frank was ready to pull out his hair. “Just stick some stuff in a bag and let’s go.”

Sure, Red changing out of his lawyer clothes, that was a good idea. Frank was fine with that. But then he started doing something with his laptop. “I’m sending Foggy some notes,” he said when Frank grumbled, sounding all mild-mannered lawyer-y.

Frank knew better. “Couldn’t do that before?”

“Well, they kind of ambushed me.” Still, Red shut down the laptop and put it on the table. “You don’t have to do this, Frank.”

“You already said that.”

“Still.”

Frank came over to sit on the couch next to Red. “Okay, I don’t. But they gave me this job. And then what if I let you go off and you get yourself dead? What would I say to Karen? And Nelson would give me that face like I’d kicked a puppy, and I don’t kick puppies.”

“No,” Red agreed. “But I -”

Frank saw him hesitate, probably about to say he wouldn’t get himself dead, but Frank knew: if Red had a choice between his own death or something happening to his friends, he’d be in the ground in a heartbeat.

Instead, Red said, “Where are we going?”

_We_ , good. Maybe he wouldn’t be obnoxious about the whole bodyguard thing.

Yeah, right, and pigs could fly.

“Queens.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s far enough that your people won’t get caught in the crossfire if they come after you.” Frank shrugged, then added, “A buddy of mine is visiting his ma, said we can use his place.” It wasn’t like either of them was rolling in dough and could afford a weekend at the Plaza or something.

“You’ve got _buddies_?”

Frank scoffed as Red got to his feet and finally started packing. About time. Clothes, bathroom stuff, all reasonable. And Frank didn’t bat an eye when he saw Red go to a chest and grab the black clothes and the ropes he wore at night, though he did say, “Be kinda weird if the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen suddenly showed up in Queens. And I’m guessing you’re going to want to show your face so those lowlifes come after you.”

Red shrugged, though he still stuffed the black suit and the ropes into his bag. “Want to have it if I need it. And, well, yeah. Sooner I deal with them, sooner I can get back to normal.” Read: away from Frank. He turned to rummage through his closet, adding, “You’re not going to kill them.”

Look at the pair on him, telling Frank he wasn’t going to do something. He laughed, a short, humorless sound. “I’m not, huh?”

“No. We’ll subdue them and call the police.”

“That’s not how I usually operate.”

“It’s how I operate.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one paying me.”

“Foggy wouldn’t -” Red paused a moment, still facing the closet. “Did Karen tell you to kill them?”

Funny how he thought it was Karen and not Nelson. Well, and also perceptive; Karen had suggested it, too. Frank didn’t say anything, and Red turned to face him, a garment bag in one of his hands.

“I don’t want them to die.”

“You won’t be the one killing them,” Frank said. “Are you bringing a suit?” Red nodded, and Frank asked, “Why? Planning to go to court?”

Red sighed. “I assume there are churches in Queens. If I’m going to show my face, that seems like a good way.” He brightened, adding, “And as my - bodyguard -” Clearly he didn’t like the word, but he continued, “You’ll have to come, too.” Frank didn’t say anything, but he must have been radiating _hell, no,_ because Red added, “All part of the job.”

Son of a bitch. “I didn’t bring church clothes.” He didn’t really _own_ much in the way of church clothes, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“God doesn’t care,” Red said piously, the little shit. “But if you want to swing by your place and get that jacket you wore to your trial, that would work. Foggy said you looked good, and -” He made a face like he’d tasted something sour. Frank waited but he didn’t say anything else.

Ordinarily, Frank wouldn’t want Red anywhere near his place, but if he was going to get dragged along to church, he wanted to look decent. “Fine. Come on.”

Red, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, suggested, “You can go and then come back for me.”

Right. Like he wouldn’t come back to an empty apartment. He should be getting hazard pay for this fucking job. Frank scoffed and repeated, “Come on,” though Red’s aggravated sigh made him smile.

He headed for the door and Red scooped up his duffel, then grabbed his laptop bag and his cane. Good. Frank wasn’t going to carry his fucking luggage, though. That was for sure.

They rode to Frank’s place in silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank watched Red, the way he tipped his head to listen to the sounds. Sonar? Frank wasn’t sure.

Frank glanced in the rear-view, paying attention to a beat-up old Ford that had left about the same time they had.

Red must have heard (or whatever) something that made sense to him; he nodded as Frank pulled into a parking spot outside his building.

The Ford kept going, turned right at the next block.

“Don’t say you’ll wait here,” Frank warned, and Red smirked as he got out of the car. They went upstairs and Red did that head-tilt again as Frank opened all his locks.

“It’s not that bad a neighborhood,” Red said, his voice mild.

Frank shrugged. “I like my privacy.” Which was going to make this job interesting. His buddy Cal’s place in Queens was not exactly big. He opened the door and went in first, taking a quick look to make sure everything was good before he let Red inside and then locked the door behind them.

Frank scratched at his beard as he surveyed his closet. Yeah, it was pretty much just that one jacket, the one dress shirt. Well, unless he wanted to pull out his dress uniform, but that seemed like overkill just for going to church.

“So why the beard?” Red asked. Huh, must’ve heard Frank scratching.

“The court thing, my mug got all over TV, in the papers. Sometimes it’s easier…” Frank didn’t finish, but Red nodded.

“But you’re going to shave it, so people know who you are?”

Frank made a vaguely affirmative noise as he tried to find shoes that wouldn’t look ridiculous with the jacket but would still let him run without issues.

“Why not do it now, before we go?”

Frank looked over at Red, trying to find the deception under what seemed to be a reasonable suggestion. Red just stood there in his kitchen - which also doubled as several other rooms - looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. So, yeah, he was probably plotting something, but Frank didn’t know what. “Sure, but I’m leaving the bathroom door open.”

Red smirked. “Whatever makes you happy.” Frank sighed and turned toward the bathroom, but Red said, “Wait. Can I see the beard, before you shave it off?”

“Hate to tell you this, Red, but you’re blind.”

Red scoffed and waved the fingers on one hand. “Sometimes it’s easier just to say _see_ , even if, obviously, I’m not actually seeing anything.”

“You want to touch my face?”

Red looked a little embarrassed but nodded. “I can’t picture you - for lack of a better word - with a beard.”

Frank’s first reaction was a hard pass, but hey. Maybe letting Red do this would get him off Frank’s ass. Anything Frank could do to make this job easier was a good thing, so he said, “Sure. Okay.”

Red stepped closer, hand upraised, and stopped just before Frank. He didn’t move and finally Frank snapped, “Get on with it.”

Red touched him. His fingers were gentler than Frank would have thought; he used a feather-light touch to trace Frank’s cheek where his beard began. Then he brushed his fingertips along the length of Frank’s beard, and Frank found himself becoming very aware of Red’s proximity, of the abstracted look in his face as he touched Frank. Red took in a breath, and then Frank, not really sure why he was doing it, pulled away. “Got to get moving,” he said, hearing the roughness in his voice.

Red nodded and rubbed his fingertips together, a strange smile on his face.

Had he just done that to fuck with Frank? Frank bit back a curse and went into the bathroom, though he did leave the door open, as promised. Wasn’t like Red could watch him, anyway. He took a minute to look at himself in the mirror. _What the fuck are you doing?_ he asked himself.

He trimmed the beard as close as he could then got out his razor and lathered up his face.

“You use a safety razor?” Red asked.

Frank, concentrating on getting a good shave, made a sound that could have been a yes.

“Double-bladed?”

“Mm-hm.”

Frank did not say that the whole thing would go a lot faster if Red would stop asking him questions, but maybe he thought it hard enough because Red shut up.

Frank didn’t question it. He kept an ear out, but Red didn’t seem to be getting into his things.

Good.

* * *

Matt sat in Frank’s chair and did not think about what was going on in the bathroom. He managed a few questions just to prove to himself that he could still string words together, but damn.

Why the hell had he done it, touched Frank Castle’s face like that? Most of it had been honest curiosity: he’d wanted to see if Frank would actually let him do it. The other part had just been him wanting to know what Frank looked like, though he was sure he couldn’t get away with skimming his hands along Frank’s face, as he had with Foggy back while they were at Columbia.

Why had he done it? Why _had_ Frank let him?

Why couldn’t Matt stop thinking about the feel of Frank’s skin under his hand? Had his breathing quickened, or had that just been wishful thinking on Matt’s part? His heart had definitely beat faster, but maybe that had been something else. Annoyance? Frank certainly seemed annoyed.

He listened and heard the scrape of the razor against Frank’s skin.

Matt doubted Frank would let him touch his face after the shave, to compare, and felt… he wasn’t sure. Regret? Longing? Some weird combination of the two with a scoop of guilt on top, because his life was guilt? That sounded about right.

The water ran in the bathroom and Matt leaned back in his chair, trying to look like he hadn’t been thinking about Frank’s face the whole time. No - Castle. Get some distance. Matt was a job for Castle; that was all.

Eventually, Castle came out of the bathroom. Had he put on aftershave? No, surely Matt was just smelling the shaving cream or whatever he used.

“Ready?” Matt asked, and Castle replied with something that sounded like an affirmative. He rummaged in the closet, presumably to get the jacket, and then got a box of something that rattled out of a drawer.

“More ammo?” Matt guessed. “Don’t you have enough?” He’d heard it moving in Castle’s bag during the drive.

“Never enough,” Castle replied, and Matt doubted he was just imagining Castle’s smile. Still, he turned for the door, and Matt followed. If he was going to Queens, might as well get it over with. After Castle locked the door and then gave the doorknob a twist, they headed downstairs and back to Frank’s truck. They loitered outside for a few minutes, just in case anybody from the gang was watching, and then set off for Queens.

The drive took long enough that Matt lost track of time. He did notice that one particular car had kept a steady distance behind the truck; he noted the whine of its engine. “You this hard up for money?” he asked, when the silence got to be too much.

The grunt that came from Castle’s side of the truck suggested that this was not a good conversation starter.

_Nice going,_ Matt thought. After all, he and Castle needed to get along for however long it would take the gang to track him down. “Or maybe you’re doing it as a favor for Karen. I know she can be - persuasive.”

That got a short laugh from Castle. “More like a dog with a bone.” Castle shifted on his seat, the battered vinyl creaking, then added, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Of course not,” Matt agreed. “But, yeah, that’s true. It’s good, though. Well, when she’s on your side.”

“She is,” Castle replied, his voice low. Matt hummed curiously and Castle clarified, “Karen. On your side.”

“She was that persuasive?”

Castle exhaled another short laugh. “You could say that. She does this thing where she looks at you - well, me - and I can’t say no. Not scared of her,” he hastened to add. “Just… she gets this look.”

“Right.”

Like Matt hadn’t been able to say no. Karen, Foggy… he’d let them down so many times. But that was part of why he’d agreed to go with Castle: to keep them safe. He couldn’t let anything happen to Foggy and Karen, or Maggie either, for that matter.

Matt shook his head. As long as they were okay, that was what was important. He didn’t really want to consider the alternative.

“So, this place in Queens, what’s it like?”

“You’ll see - find out - soon enough. Neighborhood is decent, but the place is kind of small.”

Matt shrugged. “Small is fine. Is there roof access?” The silence persisted long enough that Matt tipped his head in Castle’s direction. “What?”

“This part of Queens isn’t like the Kitchen. It’s a neighborhood. Houses, though some of them were turned into apartments, like Cal’s place.”

“The Kitchen is a neighborhood,” Matt protested, though he got what Castle meant. “So no roof access.”

“No roof access.”

Matt sighed. He liked sitting on the roof at night. Okay, Foggy called it brooding, and maybe it was, but he liked the way the city sounded from above.

“I think you’ll cope, Red.”

Matt guessed he would. Not happily, of course, but the closest he ever got to _happy_ these days was not to be found anywhere outside of Hell’s Kitchen.

Castle slowed the truck and then pulled into what sounded like a driveway. “We’re here. Eighteen Ingram Street. Cal said he’d leave the key with a neighbor kid, and something about a surprise.”

A surprise from one of Castle’s buddies? Not encouraging. Still, Matt got out of the car and pulled out his bag. “The neighbor kid know when you’re supposed to get here?”

Castle made a noise that sounded like a shrug.

Matt didn’t worry about it. Hearing a familiar engine, he said, “Pay attention to the next car down the road, yeah? But be casual.”

Castle scoffed. “You mean the Ford that followed us here?”

He sounded smug, and Matt smiled a little. “Okay, yeah. Maybe it’s the gang.”

The car passed and Castle confirmed, “Looks like.”

Good. That was good. They’d drawn the gang away from the people Matt cared about.

Matt turned at the sound of footsteps. Before he could register the source of the accompanying jingling sound, the dog jumped on him, though the joyful sound of its barks and the enthusiastic licks suggested no ill intent.

“I’m so sorry,” came the voice to go with the footsteps. He sounded young, and there was something weird about his heartbeat, something Matt couldn’t quite place. “I think she’s excited to come home, and she got away from me. C’mere, girl.”

But Castle had already grabbed the dog’s leash and told her to sit. From the sound of it, she obeyed, but Matt could still hear the whisking of her wagging tail on the sidewalk.

“You Pete?” Castle asked.

“Yeah,” the kid replied. “Well, Peter.” Matt could hear his grin as he added, “Are _you_ Pete?”

Castle let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Castiglione. Hey.”

“Funny, right?” Peter said. “Anyway, Mr. Delgado asked me to bring over the key when I saw you. Oh, and Daisy.”

The whisking sound increased, and Matt hunkered down, groping a little for show. Daisy helped out and licked his hand. “Daisy, is that your name?” More whisking, and Matt petted the dog. Clearly, that was required. “You staying with us, Daisy?”

“She must be the surprise Cal mentioned,” Castle said, his voice mostly amused.

“Didn’t Mr. Delgado tell you about Daisy? He’s had her about a month, but I guess she couldn’t go with him to his mom’s place.”

Matt gave Daisy a final pat and got to his feet, then extended his hand in the general direction of the kid. “She’s a good surprise. Hi, I’m Matt.”

“Peter.” He shook Matt’s hand, then asked, “You need any help bringing in your stuff?”

“Nah, we’re good.”

“Okay, great. Here’s the key. Mr. Delgado said you could leave it with me if you left before he got back. I’m right next door - that house, number twenty. If I’m not home, you can leave it with May. Daisy, too.”

“Girlfriend?” Matt asked, curious. The kid didn’t sound old enough to be living on his own with a girl, but maybe Matt was misinterpreting things.

But Peter laughed, sounding embarrassed. “Uh, no. My aunt. I live with her. I’m still in high school. Um, not that people in high school don’t have girlfriends. Just, uh, not me. Yet. Uh, I’m gonna… I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Nice meeting you,” Matt called after the kid. “What, did I scare him off?”

“Nah,” Castle said, and the door to his truck creaked as he opened it. “Probably just didn’t want to talk about girlfriends.”

Matt shrugged and got his stuff out of the car. “Do you know his story? Said his aunt might be there. Does he not have parents?”

Castle sighed as he made his way up to what Matt assumed was the front door. “Cal just said to watch out for the neighbor kid, that he’d bring the keys. I don’t know his life story.”

Daisy brushed past him and ran inside; it sounded like she was eating something, but Castle didn’t say anything, so it was probably dog food. Matt went in, too, and tapped his cane on the tile entryway. Not a big place.

“Used to be a house,” Castle said, correctly reading Matt’s expression. “They split it into apartments. One bedroom, one bath. I’ll take the couch.” The implication being that he could keep Matt from going out the front door.

Matt decided not to point out that he could just as easily go out a window. Castle already knew that. “Will you be okay on the couch?”

“Slept on worse.”

Matt nodded and found his way to the bedroom. He dropped his duffel on the ground, set down the laptop bag more carefully, and hung up his suit in the closet. “Bring in your jacket,” he called.

Castle grunted in a way that sounded affirmative, then came up behind Matt. The close quarters meant that he really had to be practically in Matt’s personal space. It wasn’t that he wanted to be that close, Matt knew. Of course not.

Not that Matt minded.

“Here,” Castle said, thrusting the suit into Matt’s hands before making a quick exit.

Matt took in a deep breath and hung the jacket next to his suit.

This was fine.

Really.


	3. Date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it still a date if neither of them _knows_ if it's a date?

“We need to start a routine,” Red urged as Frank poked at the last of his raisin bran. Red had insisted on oatmeal, though he got cagey when Frank asked why he didn’t just eat the raisin bran, since it was there and didn’t need to be cooked. Cal had said to eat what was in the house if they wanted, but maybe they’d get groceries later. Frank knew Cal wasn’t bringing in a lot of dough, didn’t want to eat all his stuff.

The oatmeal smelled good, though. Red had put something in it, maybe cinnamon. Maria had made that for the kids. Frankie had always put in so much brown sugar that Frank was pretty sure Frosted Flakes would be healthier, but he’d never commented. That was Maria’s thing, keeping their teeth from falling out of their heads.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, focusing back on the present when Red’s fingers started drumming on the tabletop. “So if they’re watching, they can plan a hit.”

“Yes,” Red said, like he was trying to sound patient. “We could walk the dog, same time every day.”

Daisy let out a pitiful whine, her tail wagging like anything.

“Ha, now we have to,” Frank said, trying not to laugh. “You say it, you gotta do it.” He’d taken Daisy out when he woke up, but she seemed like the kind of dog who always wanted a walk.

He dumped his bowl and Red’s in the sink and ran some water in them, then smiled as Daisy danced in place, still whining. “Okay, girl. We’re going. It’s okay.” He found her leash and noticed that it had one of those things with the baggies attached. Good.

Red got to his feet as well and went back in the bedroom for his cane. He wasn’t using it around the apartment. Why bother? Frank knew what he was capable of, after all. He came back out with the cane and the glasses and a baseball cap that was probably supposed to look like an attempt at a disguise.

“You wanna take her?” Frank asked as he clipped the leash to Daisy’s collar. “Okay, girl, we’re going. You’re all right.”

“You seem okay with her,” Red replied and, yeah, balancing the cane and the dog would maybe be a little much, even for Red.

Frank opened the door and kept enough tension in his arm that Daisy didn’t take off, though she did rush out the door and bark at a squirrel. “Which way?” Frank asked, scanning the area for any sign of trouble from the gangs or whatever. The neighborhood seemed pretty relaxed, though.

“Left,” Red replied, though it sounded like a random choice. Still, Frank didn’t care. Left it was, with Daisy sniffing as they went.

Red seemed a little tense as they walked, but Frank wasn’t going to comment on it. Not his job. He just kept an eye out and enjoyed the dog.

He and Maria had talked about getting a dog once he was home for good. The kids had promised they would take care of it, though Frank had known they would lose interest, that he’d be the one walking the dog. He wouldn’t have minded, though.

Matter of fact, there wasn’t a lot Frank wouldn’t give to be walking his family’s dog, Maria at his side, Lisa and Frankie running ahead. But here he was instead with Daisy: a nice enough dog, but not _his_ dog.

And Red.

Red, who had touched his face and then not said anything about it. On the drive to Queens, Frank had almost asked what the fuck he’d been playing at, doing that, but he wasn’t sure he would have liked the answer. And then it felt like too much time had passed. He hadn’t addressed it immediately, so the moment was gone.

Frank wasn’t sure what result he would have wanted from that conversation, anyway.

He’d liked Red touching his face, but how much of that had been because of how long it had been since someone had touched him like that?

But maybe he was misinterpreting how Red had been touching him. Maybe it had just been curiosity about the beard.

“Fuck it.”

Red hummed a question and Frank frowned. Had that been out loud? Shit. At least Red couldn’t read his mind with his super senses.

Right? Probably, yeah.

No, Of course, Red couldn’t read his mind. That was stupid.

“Nothing,” Frank said finally, figuring Red was waiting for an answer.

Red’s hand tightened a little on the cane and then he asked, “You see any signs of our friends?”

“Nah. But they wouldn’t be dumb enough to use the same car.”

Red scoffed, giving his opinion of the gang’s intelligence. Which, yeah. They probably were that dumb. Frank kinda hoped they would show up, though. Then Frank could take them out and be done with the job.

“You sure you don’t want to take the dog? Now that she’s settled down, she’s behaving herself.” She wandered a little, but it wasn’t like Frank and Red had anywhere to be.

Red hesitated. “Maybe on the way back. She peed, but she hasn’t done anything else yet.”

“Oh, so the person with the leash has to deal with the shit, is that how it works?” Frank asked, amused.

Red honest-to-goodness grinned, and Frank looked away so he wouldn’t stare until he remembered: blind. “Like how the person driving the car gets to pick the music, yeah.”

Frank, still reeling a little from the grin, muttered, “Makes sense.”

He didn’t even regret it when Daisy squatted a minute later. And really, after dealing with Red’s shit, a little dog shit was nothing.

“Want to take her now?”

Red stopped walking and folded up his cane and tucked it into his pocket. “First time for everything, I guess.”

Frank brought Daisy to a halt. “You’ve never walked a dog before?”

Red grimaced. “No. Never had one when I was a kid, and after…” He waved at his face. “Well, dogs had other associations.”

“Huh. Well, let’s see.” Frank slipped the loop at the end of the leash over Red’s hand. He kept an eye on the dog, but she seemed content to saunter, with only the occasional detour.

Red looked like he was pleased but trying to hide it. “This is okay.”

“She’s a good girl.”

Daisy, of course aware that Frank was talking about her, wagged her tail.

Red paused, his head tipping a little, and Frank turned to see where he seemed to be focusing his attention. Sure enough, that same Ford from the previous night drove by. Frank reached for his gun, then shook his head. Not on the street, not if they weren’t actively gunning for Red.

And why _weren’t_ they gunning for Red? Wasn’t that the point of sending death threats?

“Huh,” Frank said. “Guess they are that dumb.”

Red exhaled a short laugh and nodded.

A woman with a bag under one arm smiled as she approached. “Hi, Daisy,” she greeted, and Daisy picked up the pace to meet her. Red stumbled a little and, maybe instinctively, grabbed Frank’s arm to steady himself.

“Easy, Daisy,” Frank said. Red held on as they approached the woman and Frank couldn’t find it in him to mind. _This is a job,_ he reminded himself. And if he flexed his arm a little, tightening his bicep, well that was just instinct. Yeah.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get her worked up. Are you all right?”

Red smiled, practically oozing charm. He was still holding on to Frank’s arm, though. “Absolutely. Any friend of Daisy’s is a friend of ours. I’m Matt and this is - Pete.”

The woman probably didn’t catch the slight hesitation, but Frank did.

“I’m May. May Parker.”

“Oh, Peter’s aunt. Nice to meet you.”

May smiled a little under the force of Red’s charm. “And since you have Daisy, you must be Cal’s friends.”

Frank nodded and May continued, “It’s so nice of you to come look after Cal’s place and Daisy. I hope it’s kind of a vacation for you, too.”

“It’s somewhere different,” Red agreed.

May smiled again and leaned down to give Daisy another pat, then said, “Well, if you’re looking for somewhere for a date night, there are some good restaurants on Metropolitan. Just a few blocks that way.”

Frank’s first thought was, _Is she asking Red out?_ Red’s hand tightened a little on his arm, then, and he realized what she meant.

Oh.

_Oh._

“We’re not -” Frank began.

“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind,” Red replied, with a brief grin that Frank was pretty sure was done just to fuck with him.

May made her farewells and headed back toward her place, while Frank and Red continued in the opposite direction.

Frank stepped away as they walked, and Red’s hand slipped from his arm. “Why did you say that?”

“What?” Red asked, all innocence. “Thanked her for a restaurant recommendation? That’s just common courtesy.”

“You know what I mean.”

Red paused to let Daisy sniff a shrub. “What was I going to do, tell her you’re my bodyguard?” he asked, a note of bitterness in his voice. “We both know you’re here for a job, Castle. I get that. We just can’t tell the neighbors.” Daisy apparently lost interest in the shrub and set off once more. Red took off at a fast walk, Daisy enthusiastically tugging him along, leaving Frank to stare after him.

What the hell?

Red was pissed off that he couldn’t be all self-destructive on his own, sure, but was there something else bothering him?

He couldn’t want…

Nah. Of course not. Red slowed down to a walk again and Frank pulled out his phone as he set off after him. Metropolitan Avenue, huh?

Well, they had to eat, right?

* * *

Castle had been acting weird since the walk. Matt wasn’t sure if he was still pissed off about Matt going with May’s comment about dating or what, but he sent Maggie a quick text to let her know he was still alive and then holed up in the bedroom with his laptop. Might as well get some work done, after all. After a few minutes, Maggie replied with, _Good. Make sure that doesn’t change._

He didn’t spend any time at all thinking about Castle’s bicep under his hand. Not at _all_. But seriously, when did the guy have time to hit the gym?

Right as he closed his laptop, a knock sounded on the door. “Yeah?”

Castle opened the door and Daisy ran in to jump on the bed and settle down next to Matt. This dog thing wasn’t so bad, really, especially if Castle dealt with the cleanup.

Matt ducked his head down over Daisy; petting was important, after all.

“Hungry?” Castle asked, though why his heart rate would go up when he asked that question, Matt had no idea.

“Yeah, actually.” Matt had forgotten about lunch, as sometimes happened when he got involved in work. “Got something in mind?”

Castle nodded. “Come on.”

Intrigued, Matt set aside his laptop and got to his feet, falling into step with Castle. He grabbed his cane and baseball cap on the way out. He heard the rattle of kibble in the dog bowl, and then Castle told the dog to be good.

“Guard the house,” Matt added. They left and Castle locked the door behind them, and Matt asked, “Where are we going?”

“Metropolitan Street.” The area May had recommended for a date night? Matt tipped his head at Castle and got a gruff, “We gotta eat,” in reply.

Fascinating. Matt just nodded and went along with it and, huh, Castle was breathing a little faster.

Was it just because of the walk? Castle was a fit guy, as his bicep had shown. It couldn’t be the walk. They weren’t even going that quickly.

Eventually, they got wherever they were going, and Matt inhaled as Castle held the door for him. “Greek food?”

“Mediterranean, the website said,” Castle replied.

He’d done _research_.

Castle got them a table in a corner, where they could both sit with their backs to the wall. The restaurant itself sounded reasonably crowded, but the chatter wouldn’t be loud enough to make their own conversation difficult.

“Are we celebrating anything tonight?” asked the server, who seemed far too chipper.

Matt wasn’t going to answer. Not after Castle's response to the whole thing with May.

Castle said, after a moment’s thought, “Dinner.”

The server didn’t miss a beat. “Let me tell you about our specials.” He did, though he sounded apologetic as he added, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a Braille menu.”

“That’s okay,” Matt replied. “Pete can read it to me.” He smiled. The handsome, wounded duck thing just kind of happened. Despite all accusations from one Foggy Nelson, he didn’t do it on purpose.

Well, not always.

They got some beer Matt had never heard of, but that Castle said was Turkish. Go figure. Tasted good, though. So did the bread the server brought.

“So I’m reading the menu to you, huh?” Castle asked once the server had left them to their drinks.

Matt shrugged, inhaling the scent of the bread before he took another bite. It was _warm_. “Just get me whatever you’re having. I’m not picky.”

“Kebab?”

“Sure.”

He must have gotten the server’s attention, for their orders were placed in short order.

“So why this place? It seems…” Matt listened. Not _fancy_ , specifically, but nicer than Matt would have expected, from Castle. He shrugged, not finishing the sentence, but then his attention was caught by a low-voiced conversation across the room.

“… tomorrow night, late. It’s all set. Jimmy scoped out the place today.”

“You get another gun?”

“Yeah, yeah. And we can come back to that bar next door for a drink after.”

So wherever it was going down, it must be close. Matt would pay attention the next night, then.

“… just felt like a kebab,” Castle was saying, and Matt refocused his attention, nodding and smiling a little.

“Did you eat them a lot when you were, uh, overseas?” Whoops. There was the duck thing again. Matt tried to tone down the smile, but he still wasn’t really over the fact that he was sitting in a restaurant with Frank Castle.

“Yeah, sometimes. Not a lot, just… sometimes.”

Castle’s chair scraped against the floor as he shifted.

“You still going to church with me tomorrow morning?”

Castle scoffed. “Yeah. Just don’t expect me to go to confession, altar boy.”

Matt didn’t bother to point out that confession wasn’t actually part of Mass; Castle knew that. “As long as you’re there, that’s what’s important.”

“Where’s the church?”

“Our Lady of Mercy. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk.”

Castle took a drink of his beer, then said, “We passed Saint Luke’s on the way.”

“No way. It’s Episcopalian.”

“So? Same god, right?”

“So that’s like me saying the Army and the Marines are the same thing.” He imitated Castle’s tone. “Same military, right?”

“Ha. I’ve killed a man for less.”

Matt was pretty sure he was joking and grinned. “So. Our Lady of Mercy. If you really can’t handle a fifteen-minute walk, we can take your truck, but that seems a little -”

“Oh, I can handle it. Don’t you worry about what I can handle.”

_Hello._ Had that been flirting?

“You two are so cute,” said the server as he dropped off their food. Clearly _he_ thought something was going on.

Castle made a sound that Matt was pretty sure meant, _We aren’t cute,_ but Matt just smiled and said, “Smells great, thanks.”

It tasted good, too. Whatever Castle had ordered, he had good taste. As he ate, Matt pondered the impending bill. Should he pay? Since Castle was there as his so-called bodyguard, it was technically working, and so shouldn’t he, as the hypothetical employer, pay? Not that he had set up the job, but Foggy and Karen weren’t there.

As Castle leaned in to get more bread, Matt was suddenly _very_ glad Foggy and Karen weren’t there. He wasn’t sure what it was about Castle’s proximity, but there was definitely _something_.

He made himself focus. So. If it was a date and Castle had asked him, should _he_ pay? Matt hadn’t dated in, well, a while; he wasn’t sure of the etiquette.

Should he wait and see what Castle did? But if he did that and Castle considered it as a work thing, what would he think?

Matt sighed and ate a little more rice. This was why he didn’t date. He got in his head too much.

“Don’t like it?” Castle asked.

Matt tapped his fork against the mostly-empty plate. “Evidence suggests otherwise.”

Castle exhaled a short laugh and muttered, “Fucking lawyers. I _thought_ ,” he added more loudly, “you might have been told to clean your plate when you were a kid. You were eating slow, is all.”

“Well, not _told_ , specifically. Not with my dad, at least.” But money had been tight, and wasting food hadn’t been an option. Matt had eaten what he was given and made no complaints. He wouldn’t have wanted to make his dad feel bad.

Castle hummed in understanding. He’d grown up in the Kitchen, too, after all. “But at the orphanage?”

“Oh, definitely at the orphanage. Nuns, yeah?”

“Yeah. They always creeped me out a little when I was a kid.”

Was Castle… opening up to him? Matt kept his expression neutral. “Yeah, me, too. But then when I was living with them, well, you get used to it.”

“Guess you can get used to anything if you don’t have a choice.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah.”

The server came back and put down the check and Matt blurted out, not quite panicking, “Can you split that?”

“Yeah, sure,” the server replied, though he sounded a little puzzled. “I’ll be right back.”

“We probably could have just done the math ourselves,” Castle said after a moment, sounding maybe a little amused. “We both got the same thing. Even I can divide by two.”

Flustered, Matt said, “I think it’s easier for the restaurant, uh.”

“Okay, Red.”

Castle, Matt felt, was not quite laughing at him, but close.

They paid and headed back for Cal’s place, and Matt still had no idea if they had gone on a date.


	4. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Frank go to church.

Frank was used to seeing Red in suits. Suit and tie, yeah, and the red suit, and… okay, the black getup might not count as a suit. So maybe that was why, as he tried to get comfortable on Cal’s ancient couch, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Red had worn that day. That gray shirt, the kind with a couple buttons near the neck. It had a name, but fuck if Frank knew it.

Whatever it was, Frank had liked it. It was snugger than a suit and tie could ever be, and those jeans? Well, damn. Frank was not going to think about Red’s ass in those jeans.

Really.

And he wasn’t going to think about Red’s hand on his arm, or the way he’d smiled at dinner, or…

Fuck.

Frank turned over on his other side and thought about baseball.

He went over field-stripping procedures in his head.

Finally, desperate, he did mental math problems until he was sure he wasn’t going to embarrass himself like a fucking teenager.

The fact that the couch and Cal’s bed - where Frank imagined Red was sleeping like a fucking baby - shared a wall did not help. Knowing that just a wall separated them… no wonder the math hadn’t entirely helped.

Daisy, perhaps aware that Frank was awake, climbed over him and settled between him and the back of the couch.

She was… not a small dog, and there wasn’t enough room, but Frank didn’t have the heart to kick her out. Hell, he was probably sleeping on her bed; he’d heard her snuffling around it the previous night.

Frank honestly wasn’t even sure what that dinner had been about, anyway. And then Red had gone and gotten the guy to split their check. Frank had been set to pay for it - a little more than he’d planned to spend, but the food had been good - so what did it mean that Red had split the check?

Fuck it. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t going to toss and turn over it like some dumb kid. He had to get some sleep so he wouldn’t fall asleep at Mass.

Red would be - not watching, but paying attention.

And maybe, just maybe, Frank wanted to make a good impression. He threw an arm over Daisy and, through sheer force of will, went to sleep.

The next morning, Frank got up early to go for a run, old habits being what they were. He took Daisy, so they wouldn’t have to deal with her before church, and then grabbed a shower and started enough oatmeal for both him and Red.

“Hey, thanks,” Red said from the bedroom doorway, and Frank was a little relieved to see he was wearing, if not yet the suit jacket, then at least the not-so-snug dress shirt.

“No problem,” Frank said. “Figured you’d want it, didn’t want to be late to go see god.”

He still looked good, though, and Frank pondered the sinful thoughts he would use to keep himself occupied during mass.

Red had said he had to go, not that he had to pay attention.

“Does Daisy need to…” Red frowned a little, then made a walking gesture with his fingers.

“Nah, took care of that earlier.”

“Oh, that explains it.” Frank hummed a question and Red said, “You were gone when I came out to get a shower.”

Frank was suddenly glad of the timing. All the math in the world wouldn’t have helped him through Red in the shower.

“Thought your bodyguard abandoned you?” Frank asked. He’d been going for a joke but had clearly missed the mark from the way the smile dropped from Red’s face.

Damn.

But it wasn’t like he could say, _Oh, just kidding._

So he didn’t say anything, just brought the oatmeal, and they ate in silence. When they were done, he put the dishes in the sink to soak and pulled on his jacket. No tie; the jacket would be enough.

When they set off for church, maybe Red had gotten over the joke, as he asked, “When was the last time you went to church?”

“What, for a service?” Red came to an abrupt halt and turned toward Frank with such shock on his face that Frank clarified, “I meant as opposed to a wedding or something. Not going to church to kill people.” Frank managed not to laugh.

Red started walking once more. “Yeah, for a service.”

Not that it being god’s house would keep Frank from killing some lowlife, if they happened to go in a church. No, he’d be more concerned with civilian casualties than with getting blood on a church floor.

He had to figure out the answer to Red’s question, though. Obviously, the last time he’d gone to a church had been when Maria and the kids were still alive, so he didn’t want to think about it too hard. “I don’t remember.”

“That long, huh?” There wasn’t any judgment in Red’s tone, just acknowledgment. “Well, I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

Not like Frank had a choice. He wasn’t going to say that, though; not after the way that joke had bombed at breakfast.

“Just… don’t expect anything, okay?” Red hummed a question, so Frank said, “It’s not like I’m going to go and listen and then suddenly decide I’ve been living my life all wrong.” Hell, if he even listened it would be kind of a big deal.

He cast a sidelong look at Red, but he was smiling. “I know. I didn’t want you to come along to… to change who you are. I’ve had enough people who have wanted me to change, so… no.” Perhaps sensing Frank’s surprise, he added, “I mean, not that I’m thrilled with what you do, but it’s who you are.”

Frank asked, “That mean you’re going to stop telling me not to kill people?”

“That,” Red replied, with one of those grins that went right to the core of Frank, “would mean changing who _I_ am, so no.”

“Live and let… kill?”

Red grimaced a little, then shrugged. “I can’t control what other people do,” he said, though he looked like he really wished he could.

Frank, for his part, was glad he couldn’t.

They walked in silence until Red asked, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, “Do you still believe in God?”

Now that, that was a question. Frank’s faith had never been strong, never been the core of him the way it seemed to be for Red. He mulled over his answer, feet scuffing on the sidewalk, then finally said, “I’d like to believe. Folks who do, they seem… I don’t know. It seems to help them, the idea that somebody’s up there.” Controlling the puppet strings, maybe.

Red nodded. “Sometimes it does. Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know what He wants.”

“Ever ask him?” Frank asked as they went up the steps to the church. He kept an eye out, as he had been throughout the walk. Nobody seemed suspicious.

Red laughed a little as they stopped by the font. He crossed himself. Frank did not. “My whole life is just me asking Him, _Am I doing this right? Am I anywhere close to what you want me to be?_ ”

“I think you are,” Frank said, without even thinking about it.

Red exhaled a soft sound as they took a seat. “You do, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. At least somebody does.”

Frank was kind of glad when the service started. He felt like he should say _something_ else, but he wasn’t sure what. Just something, something that would make Red smile.

He liked it when Red smiled.

* * *

Matt stretched as he and Frank walked away from the church, lengthening his spine a little. Pews never were comfortable, probably by design. A little extra penance.

It hadn’t been Clinton Church - which, admittedly, hadn’t felt exactly right to him since Father Lantom’s death - but it was a church.

The distance from Clinton Church, with its echoes of Father Lantom, had actually been a relief. He’d never find a new permanent church, though the thought of Maggie’s reaction to the idea was almost worth suggesting it, just to see her face. Changing it up a little was a good thing, he decided.

“So,” Castle said. “Feel all holy now?”

Matt smiled, like Castle probably knew he would. “More centered, more grounded. What about you?”

“Feel like a nap. I don’t know what it is about church that does that to me. Maybe the incense.”

He sounded like he was at least partly joking, but Matt tried not to think of spending an hour or two curled up with Frank Castle. Though in this fantasy, which Matt was absolutely not thinking about right after church, they would definitely not be sleeping.

What was it about this guy? Matt tried to tell himself he didn’t have a type; Castle was nothing like Elektra, though Matt imagined Foggy pointing out the murdery similarities and sighed. Maybe it was the danger he liked.

“Hey, don’t get offended,” Castle said, clearly misinterpreting Matt’s sigh. “You knew from the start I wasn’t going to have fun in there. Do _you_?”

“What, have fun?” Castle mumbled an affirmative and Matt laughed. “This is Catholicism. It’s not supposed to be fun. Catholicism is guilt and regret.”

Castle scoffed. “You’re really not selling it. I don’t think Catholicism has cornered the market on guilt and regret, though.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so flippant. “But it’s also the belief that there’s… there’s a reason for things, a purpose.”

Castle didn’t say anything for a moment. “Things happen for a reason?” The depth of bitterness in his tone did not surprise Matt.

Hell, he’d struggled with that, too. “I get what you mean,” Matt said. “I mean, my mother leaving -” He realized Castle didn’t know who his mother was but decided it was not the time for that conversation. “- the accident, my dad’s death…”

“That’s a hell of a lot for a so-called benevolent god to put on a little kid.”

At the time, it had felt like a series of body blows coming with just enough time between them to give Matt the illusion he could recover.

Sometimes it felt like he never had.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “Yeah, it was. I’ve kind of gone back and forth. Part of me feels like God doesn’t micromanage - that would get rid of the whole free will thing.”

“Oh, you believe in that?” Castle asked, his voice dry.

Matt couldn’t help but smile. “Tell me you’re not making a conscious choice every time you kill someone.” Castle didn’t answer, and Matt’s smile widened a little. One point to Murdock. “But the other part of me feels like if I went through all that shit and it wasn’t _for_ something… what’s the point?”

“But all that made you into… what you are,” Castle said. “Maybe the big guy wanted you to do that.”

“Could be.”

Castle scuffed his foot along the sidewalk. “That kinda would suggest that he wants me doing what I’m doing, so you can’t make that face when I do it.”

Wait, what? “That’s not how it works,” he protested. “What face?” Also: Frank - no, Castle, _Castle_ \- noticed Matt’s face? Was that a good thing? Matt was suddenly very aware of his face. He’d heard he was handsome; he hadn’t actually seen himself since the age of nine, so he really had no idea if that was accurate.

“The kicked puppy face,” Castle said, apparently oblivious to Matt’s discomfiture, as well as his grudging allocation of a point - no, half a point - to Castle.

“I do not make a kicked puppy face.”

“Yeah, you do.” Castle moved to unlock Cal’s door. His voice quiet, he said, “If that’s true, that everything happens for a reason, then that means my family…” He cleared his throat. “No. They died. It wasn’t for a reason and it definitely wasn’t part of some higher plan. Fuck that.”

Really, the thought of God killing Castle’s family to turn him into the Punisher was… not a comfortable one for Matt.

But how was that different than all the things that had happened to make him Daredevil? Obviously, the scale was different, and comparing personal tragedies was never a good thing.

Matt wasn’t exactly disappointed when Daisy’s enthusiastic greeting distracted Castle from talking about his family, but he kept thinking about it as he went to change out of his suit.

Would it be more palatable for Castle to find a reason for his family’s death, as Matt had with his own circumstances, or would it be more comforting - if that was the word - to think of it as something awful that had just happened?

Castle had held on to his grief, Matt decided as he hung up his jacket and pulled off his tie. That gave him the mental image of Castle clinging to grief like a teddy bear, and while the picture didn’t entirely fit his idea of Frank Castle, it also didn’t feel totally wrong.

No, Castle had honed his grief into vengeance. Then, once he’d presumably killed all the people even remotely associated with his family’s death - and Matt didn’t bother to add a mental _allegedly_ there, as Castle had admitted to the deaths - then he… what? Decided to kill people for the greater good? Not a bad motive, but Matt questioned the execution, though he couldn’t help but smile a little at his own mental phrasing.

Matt knew there was no way he could change Castle. But maybe he could temper Castle’s more murdery impulses, at least where the gang gunning for Matt was concerned. After all, even if he didn’t kill them personally, they would be killed on his behalf.

Castle would see reason, right? Well, maybe not. But Matt could try. He had a way with words, after all.

He finished getting changed, fingering labels until he found the dark green Henley shirt; Karen had bought him some clothes when he’d showed up for drinks one too many times in his old Columbia sweatshirt.

He opened the door and said, “Want me to hang up your jacket?”

Castle made a noise that Matt assumed meant yes; there was a rustle of fabric, and then he stepped closer. The scent of incense still lingered, along with the coffee they’d picked up on the way back and whatever Castle had used in the shower that morning. It all combined in a way that Matt found… disturbingly comforting.

“What?” Castle asked, maybe seeing something of what Matt was feeling on his face.

“Uh. Nothing.” Matt held out his hand for the jacket and Frank handed it over.

Matt absolutely did not hold the jacket to his nose and inhale once he was safely out of sight in Cal’s room.

Definitely not.

Once the jacket was safely tucked next to Matt’s suit, he went back out and suggested - without using the actual word - that they take Daisy for a walk. Maybe he would be able to sound Castle out on being less murdery just this once.


	5. Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt makes what some might (and do) call a bonehead choice.

Matt listened.

Castle’s heartbeat was slow and steady, but that didn’t mean he was asleep. Yeah, there he was talking to the dog, telling her she was a good girl and that he was sorry he was taking up so much of her bed.

Matt had an idea for another place Castle could sleep, but that probably wouldn’t go over so well.

The day had been a good one. Church, walking the dog, a trip to a grocery store. They’d chatted a little: Castle hadn’t enjoyed mass, he’d said; it had reminded him of being a kid, which apparently wasn’t a good thing.

The suggestion that Castle not, you know, kill the people gunning for Matt had been met with a resounding _no_. No surprise there.

“Thought you weren’t going to try and change me, huh?”

Matt hadn’t replied, but he knew he couldn’t let Castle kill those people. The guilt would overwhelm him.

Matt pulled on his black clothes and started winding the ropes around his hands, keeping an ear out for Castle as he did. The guys from the restaurant would be doing something soon. Matt wanted to stop them, and while backup was a good thing, he had said he didn’t expect Castle to change. Whatever those guys were up to, they didn’t deserve to die for it.

No, Matt would go on his own and hopefully, Castle wouldn’t realize anything had happened. He’d like to wait until Castle was asleep, but he also didn’t want to miss the crime.

He eased the window open, holding his breath like that would make a difference, and then slipped out.

There were advantages and disadvantages to being on the ground floor. Less likelihood of damaging himself sneaking out, sure, but he did miss his roof access. That was probably for the best, though. He knew the Kitchen like the back of his hands and could get around the rooftops in his sleep, but here? Better not to risk it.

It was late enough that Matt should blend easily enough with the shadows and the dark. He wandered around the neighborhood for a little while and all seemed well, but then he smelled it: the familiar tang of gunpowder. He headed in that direction and then increased his pace when he heard the odd heartbeat he associated with the neighbor kid. Peter. Shit. He’d seemed like a nice kid. Matt wouldn’t wish a mugging on anybody, but he almost preferred it to the thought of the kid being mixed up with those characters from the restaurant.

As Matt approached, he heard a ruckus in progress. Shit, the kid! But as he rounded the corner, somebody with the kid’s heartbeat knocked a bigger figure to the ground and then… secured him somehow? Not for the first time, Matt wished his senses could give him more details.

He sensed another figure on the ground, but hadn’t the guys at the restaurant mentioned a third person? Matt listened but didn’t hear any other heartbeat that showed the stress of committing a crime.

“Uh.” The kid jumped and Matt continued, “You okay here?”

“What? Uh, yeah. Fine.” The kid sounded jittery and why not, what with some random guy showing up.

“Good. You going to call the cops?”

“Yeah,” Peter repeated. “Uh. Who are you?”

“I’m -” Matt sighed. He felt a little stupid saying it, but it wasn’t like he had another option. “I’m Daredevil.”

“No kidding! Wow, I thought Hell’s Kitchen was your beat. Nice to meet you. I’m Spider-Man, but, well, you probably guessed that from the outfit and the web and all.”

Wait, what? Peter Parker was Spider-Man? There really was no other person it could be, though; his heartbeat was too distinct.

Peter approached and Matt held out his hand; Peter shook it.

“Nice job. Seems like you handled everything just fine.” Matt just glossed over the Hell’s Kitchen comment; he didn’t want the kid making a connection between Daredevil and the guys staying in his neighbor’s house. “Was there another one?”

“I didn’t see one. Why?”

“My intel said there were three.”

“Wow, you get _intel_?” Peter sounded impressed, and Matt tried not to smile. Daredevil wasn’t a smiley sort of guy, after all. Or, at least, not that kind of smiling. Baring his teeth in a fight, sure, but Daredevil wasn't _nice_. 

“We’d better find the other one.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah. Did your, uh, intel give you any clues as to where he might be? Or she,” he added quickly.

And, well, Jimmy could have been a girl’s name, but the guys at the restaurant had seemed more old-school than that. Before Matt could come with a suggestion from his _intel_ , footsteps approached. The person making the sound had an agitated heartbeat.

“What’s taking you guys so long?” he stage-whispered.

Matt tipped his head toward the guy. “Want me to deal with him? Since you took care of the other two?”

“Whatever you want, sir,” the kid replied, and Matt felt the weight of every year of his life pressing down on him at that _sir_.

It was not because of the _sir_ that he put some extra spin in his flips, some more force in his kicks. The guy, possibly Jimmy, caught him one glancing blow to the mouth; he must have been wearing a ring, as Matt felt a sharp pain. Other than that, the fight went off without a hitch, and Matt dumped maybe-Jimmy with his cronies. He had a brief flashback to the cartoons of his youth, the bad guys in a pile with birds flying around their heads.

But they were still alive; he’d done a good job.

Peter seemed to agree. “That was great,” he enthused. “Hey, are you in town for long?”

“Not sure. I’m here to deal with something. Don’t really know how long it will take.”

“Oh.” Maybe he seemed disappointed? Matt wasn’t sure. “Well, if you ever want to, uh, patrol together or something, just let me know. Another pair of hands is a good thing.”

Matt frowned a little. “Don’t you have… partners? I heard something about you teaming up with the Avengers.”

“Oh, yeah yeah. But that was kind of a temporary thing. I do better, well, locally. Kind of like you. I mean, you’d be great with the Avengers, I’m sure, but sometimes it’s better not to have to think so big.”

Matt scoffed a little at the thought of working with the Avengers. The kid was right; it definitely wasn’t his thing. “I’ll keep that in mind. But it’s good to have somebody local who knows. A friend.” What would his life have been like, Matt wondered, if he had been open and honest with Foggy from the start?

“Oh, I do,” Peter replied, sounding confident. “Friends and, uh, family.”

“Wow.” Peter seemed to have it more together as a teenager than Matt… well, ever did. But it was pleasant to think of somebody being able to do this sort of thing without it messing up his life.

Impressive. It was a goal. Not one Matt felt like he could actually manage, but a goal nonetheless.

“You’ll call the cops, right?” Matt prompted. He didn’t want to have to worry about those guys getting away.

“Right. I’ll stay until I hear them.”

“Thanks, kid.”

“Nice working with you, sir.”

_Jesus -_. Matt cut off the mental blasphemy, but _really_ , he wasn’t that old. He waved and… well, it was harder to make a cool exit without being able to jump off a roof, but he did his best.

* * *

Frank couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation he and Red had had that afternoon.

Well, they’d had several, but “Did you enjoy Mass.” “No.” was hardly one for the ages.

No, the one that had Frank tossing and turning on the couch was the one where Red came out in another of those tight shirts and Frank thought, _There’s no way he picked that out himself._ It was all rumpled, like he’d just pulled on the shirt; he’d left his glasses in Cal’s room, so Frank could see that the dark green of the shirt definitely did something to Red’s eyes, just like its tightness did things for Red’s… everything else.

_Karen,_ Frank realized. She was definitely the one responsible for these shirts. Frank decided at that moment that he and Karen were absolutely going to have words over this.

Of course, then Karen would know that Frank had noticed, so maybe not.

Frank had been cleaning a gun at the kitchen table when Red came over to sit opposite him, apparently oblivious to the fact that Frank was practically drooling over him like some dumb kid. Or maybe he could tell. You never knew, with Red. Anyway, if he could tell, he ignored it; his eyebrows were down, making lines between his eyes that Frank knew meant he’d been thinking, which meant trouble for Frank.

Frank set aside the gun, deciding that maybe it would be better not to have a firearm in such easy reach. “Yeah?”

“What?” Of course, Red would go on the defensive.

Frank scoffed. “Just spit it out, whatever you want to say. You don’t have to give me a big, lawyery lead-in.”

Red smiled a little, and Frank just knew that was exactly what he’d been planning to do. “Okay. I don’t want you to kill those guys when they come after me.”

Fuck. That again? “Thought you said you weren’t going to ask me to change.”

And oh, did that make Red look guilty; it was a lot easier to tell without the glasses. “I don’t. In general. But these guys, they’re gunning for _me_.”

Frank made a noise that meant, _And this is news?_

“So if you kill them, it’ll be on me.”

Frank sighed. That Catholic upbringing had really done a number on Red. Frank was glad he’d escaped it. “You planning to kill them?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Then how can it be on you?”

“Because…” Red shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “You’d be doing it in my name.”

“I’d be doing it in your name,” Frank repeated, his tone blank.

“Yeah.”

“You think you’re Jesus now?”

“ _What?_ ”

Frank couldn’t help but laugh at Red’s outrage. “Well, it’s always in Jesus’s name, whatever, and that’s what you sounded like.” He sat up a little straighter, intoning, “Do this in remembrance of me.” See? He could quote Bible shit if he wanted.

Red seriously looked like he was going to throw something at Frank or maybe punch him. That could go a couple different ways, all of them interesting.

Unfortunately, Red got himself under control; Frank took note of the button, so he could maybe push it later. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, look. Nelson and Karen are footing the bill for this, so if I’m doing it in anybody’s name, it’s theirs.” From Red’s expression, he didn’t like that much better, so Frank added, “Plus, anybody I kill, I do it in _my_ name. For me. And we both know that if there’s a hell, I’m definitely going there.”

“Hey, no. You could - repent, and -”

“No. That’s not me.”

And then Red had sighed and left, and… whatever. Frank didn’t care. He didn’t believe in that shit, anyway. Maria and the kids, they were dead, just gone. And when he died, he’d be gone, too.

Some days, that had more than a little appeal.

Frank turned over on the couch and tried to get comfortable. Maybe, just this once, he could go easy on the lowlifes. Let Red call the cops. Sure, they’d probably end up in jail, then out of jail and causing more trouble. Frank could kill them _then_.

It wasn’t that Frank wanted to make Red happy, not really. He’d just seen how intense Red had gotten about it. He’d kind of liked watching Red get all worked up, truth be told.

But Frank got guilt. He was still Catholic deep down, after all, even if he didn’t believe. Guilt was ingrained in him, like polishing his shoes and squaring up the corners when he made his bed.

So… sure. He’d let them live. Just this once.

He got up from the couch, smiling a little as Daisy stretched out to take up the whole thing, and went to knock on the bedroom door.

Nothing.

Frank knocked again. “Hey, Red?”

Still no answer. Frank almost turned away - maybe the guy was actually sleeping - but then the thought of Karen giving him shit for letting something happen to Red made him open the door.

The room was empty, the window open just a crack.

Son of a bitch.

Frank closed the window and locked it, then went to the other room and started to gear up.

Daisy thumped her tail at him as he pulled the vest out of his bag and put it on.

“What?” Frank said. “I’m not mad.”

Daisy whined.

“Okay, I’m a little mad. This is a bonehead move on his part, going off without backup.”

Daisy clambered down from the couch and sat next to him.

“He’s fine. Asshole can take care of himself.”

Daisy thumped her tail on the floor as Frank started loading up on ammo.

“I’m _not_ worried.”

Daisy whined again.

“Okay, maybe a little worried. But only because Karen’s going to be pissed at me if he gets hurt on my watch.”

That got him a bark from Daisy.

“What? It’s not like he’s amazing at getting out of fights without getting cut or shot or hit in the head again.” He felt Daisy’s nose press against his side and reached to pet her. “I’m not worried.”

Hell, Frank was pretty sure even Daisy didn’t believe that one.

Frank felt the panic start to rise as he checked his guns, his movements practiced and automatic. He couldn’t lose Red.

Just as he was ready to go, he heard a rattle from the bedroom window.

Son of a bitch. But if he’d come back, that meant he could walk, so… good.

A moment or two later, a knock sounded at the door, and Frank opened it. It was dark, sure, but it wouldn’t do to have somebody see Daredevil waiting outside the house.

He seemed to be moving all right, and Frank’s stomach tightened at the thought that maybe Red had overheard him talking to Daisy. Red didn’t comment, though, but just made his way to the sink and got a glass of water.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Frank asked, his voice low and rough.

Red didn’t turn to face him, just drank his water. “When we were at the restaurant, I heard some guys planning something. I went out to stop them.”

Frank managed not to throw his hands in the air. What an idiot. “And you didn’t think about bringing me along?”

“You would have killed them, and I didn’t know what they were up to.”

“I don’t kill everybody,” Frank protested, and the way Red scoffed made Frank want to hit him.

Red turned, finally, and he was bleeding. The son of a bitch was bleeding from a cut at the corner of his mouth. Frank pushed down on his surge of worry; he was concerned about retribution from Karen, that was all.

“You got hurt. Anything else?” Frank stepped forward to - well, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Check Red for other injuries? That… could go a number of ways.

“I’m fine.”

Frank persisted, “This is why you should have taken me. You need backup.”

And then Red smiled his little I-know-better-than-you, fucking lawyer smile and said, “I had backup.”

What? Who… who did Red even know in fucking _Queens_ that could be backup? Nobody Frank knew. But that do-gooder Captain America was from Brooklyn, right? That wasn’t too far.

The thought of Red and Captain America fighting together made something inside Frank twist with jealousy.

Red pulled off his stupid mask, smearing the blood along his cheek. “What’s the matter?” he asked, that shit-eating grin gone. “You’re upset. Why?”

Fucking super senses. Frank inhaled slowly and released the breath, trying to put whatever Red had flagged back to normal. Unable to resist a smirk of his own, he said, “I’m fine.” He unfastened his vest and started to put away his guns.

Red stayed where he was. “Isn’t backup… a good thing?”

“Sure it is.”

Fucking Captain America. No way _he_ killed people, even assholes who deserved it. Yeah, they fought a good fight and then afterward…

“He’d actually taken care of two of them. Had ’em tied up with, I guess, his web.”

Wait. “Web?”

“Well, Spider-Man. I guess it’s his thing.” Red started unwrapping the ropes and Frank settled to a seat on the couch, his vest still hanging loose.

Spider-Man. Yeah, he was from that area. Too many superheroes to keep track of. No wonder Frank had been confused.

“Uh, how was it? Working with Spider-Man?”

“Kid’s too polite,” Red said, his tone wry. “Would you believe he called me _sir_?” He sounded honest-to-god offended.

“Spider-Man’s a kid? What kind of parents let a kid go out and do that kind of shit? Plus, it’s late. It’s a school night.”

“He doesn’t live with his parents.” Red coiled the rope in two neat piles.

“You got a chance to talk about living situations while you were knocking out lowlifes?” The blood streak on Red’s face started to bother Frank. _Were_ there other injuries? Shit. He talked over Red’s answer, saying, “That was a bonehead move, going out by yourself, not knowing what you were getting into.”

Red shrugged. “It wasn’t a bonehead move. I do it all the time.”

Frank felt his teeth ache and unclenched his jaw a little. “The fact that you do it all the time doesn’t make it any less bonehead. And you’re my responsibility right now, so you need to knock that shit off.”

“Yeah, well just because Karen and Fogs are paying you, that doesn’t actually make you my fucking babysitter, Castle. So fuck off.”

“Fuck off?” Frank echoed, his tone incredulous. He got to his feet and absolutely didn’t stomp over to Red. The floor just shook like that… because.

Red straightened as Frank approached, squaring his shoulders. He even lifted his hands a little, though they didn’t quite ball into fists. Maybe he wasn’t gunning for a fight.

That was too bad, because Frank kind of was.

“Yeah,” Red replied, lifting his chin. “Fuck. Off.”

Okay. Maybe he was gunning for a fight after all. Well, Frank was happy to oblige. He crossed the remaining steps to Red and grabbed his collar, hoisting him into the air and slamming him into the nearby wall.

That was the plan, at least; before he even got his hands on Red, Daisy was in between them, and the whining coming from her took all the fight out of Frank.

“Hey, Daisy,” he reassured her. “It’s okay.” He moved back to the couch - it wasn’t a retreat - and Daisy followed, her tail wagging briefly.

“She’s scared,” Red said. “She doesn’t want us to fight.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Frank replied, though he kept his voice gentle, his hands rubbing Daisy’s back and along her side. “Too bad. I was all set to kick your ass.”

“Isn’t that against some sort of bodyguard code?” Wow, his tone was kind of bitter. But when Frank looked over, Red’s face was bland, like he was listening to some half-assed argument in court.

Frank scoffed. “Yeah, because I’m such a rule-follower.”

Karen had kind of teased him about that, though, after he’d taken the job. “You know bodyguards are supposed to fall in love with their clients, right?”

“Yeah, no,” Frank had replied, and Karen had smiled.

“You are, though,” Red said, and Frank turned his attention back to him.

“What?” He was absolutely not falling in love with Red.

“I mean, not society’s rules, but yours. You’ve got your own code and you follow it.”

_Oh_.

“You got me all figured out, huh?”

Red smiled, then winced a little, maybe as the movement pulled at the cut on his mouth; yeah, it was bleeding again. Maybe he’d smiled bigger or something. “Yeah, I do.”

Not likely. Frank was damn sure Red didn’t know what thoughts were going through his head at that moment, about how he liked that smile. About other things to do with Red’s mouth - though not while he was bleeding.

Frank got to his feet and gave Daisy another pat, then pulled out an ice tray and cracked it into a clean dish towel, making a mental note to pick up some new ones for Cal. He wrapped the towel around the ice and all but shoved it into Red’s hand. Then, when Red didn’t do anything, Frank pulled the ice out of his hand and pressed it to Red’s mouth.

Red pulled away a little, then settled back against the counter. “Easy,” Frank said, like he would have said to one of his kids. “This’ll help.”

He didn’t look at Red’s face, not sure he’d like what he’d see there. When Red finally took the ice, Frank went into the bathroom - not running, walking like a regular person - and washed up.

When he got back, Red was gone, the bedroom door closed behind him.

“Bonehead,” Frank muttered, and he didn’t know if he meant himself or Red.


	6. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more poor life choices, this time with gunfire.

Later, Matt would reflect that everything had gone wrong on Monday because he hadn’t been able to get Sunday out of his head. There was the oddness of teaming up with Spider-Man, and the knowledge that he was in high school - _high school_ \- and then coming back to Cal’s place and… well.

He’d caught a little of what Castle had been saying about not being worried, and had gone cold for a moment wondering just who Frank was talking to.

And then he’d come to find that Castle had locked the window, the son of a bitch. And no roof access, and Matt had just _known_ that Castle would be sitting there, no chance of sneaking in, so he had to go knocking on the door.

Castle had been _mad_ , which… all right, was kind of hot.

People liked what they liked, okay?

Matt tried hard not to think about what could have happened if he and Castle had actually fought. Cal’s kitchen might not have survived it, but Matt was sure it would have been a satisfying experience, one way or another. Castle had been turned on, too; Matt just knew it.

And then Matt had mentioned the whole bodyguard thing and Castle…

Castle hadn’t denied it. So, yeah, even though he’d given Matt an ice pack and spoken to him with a gentle tone that Matt had never imagined from him, it was a job.

So on Monday, Matt went through the motions, keeping up the routine they had established. He talked to Daisy, and Castle talked to Daisy, but they didn’t really talk to each other.

Finally, they went to take Daisy on one last walk before turning in for the night. The air was cold and Matt figured the sun had gone down. He was so in his head, so wrapped up in _if only_ and _I shouldn’t have_ that he missed the sound of the gang’s car - the Ford, Frank had said - until it was right on top of them.

Castle shoved Daisy’s leash into his hand with a muttered, “Go,” but of course Matt wouldn’t. He grabbed Castle’s (really nice) arm and hauled him into an alley.

“Red, what the _fuck_?” Castle protested. “Isn’t dealing with them the whole point of all this?” He took a breath and added, “Malone is here.”

Well, shit. That explained why they hadn’t tried to kill Matt before: Malone was a cousin of the guy who had assaulted Almira Lopez, the guy Matt had helped to put in jail. Of course, he’d want to enact the revenge himself.

“Can’t make it too easy,” Matt replied. “And I want to get them away from the people on the street. They’re following.” Though the squeal of brakes and the slamming car doors should have been obvious even to Castle.

Castle grunted something that sounded like assent. “There’s a building up ahead. Looks abandoned.”

Matt nodded and went along with Castle, though Daisy’s leash in his hand was a worry. He didn’t want anything to happen to Cal’s dog.

Maybe Castle had the same thought because the leash was tugged from Matt’s hand and then Castle did… something. Tied her to something, somewhere out of the way? At least she’d be safe.

Then Castle pulled him into the building. Matt whacked a wall with his cane, letting the echoes show him the space.

A big room. High ceilings. Mostly empty, not much cover. An old community center? Something like that. There were shapes to the side that felt like folding chairs. He dropped the cane, then; he wouldn’t need it.

“There’s a… loft, balcony thing,” Castle said, which Matt guessed was his way of saying that he was going for the better vantage point.

At least he wasn’t dragging Matt behind him. But Matt wasn’t entirely sure he wanted Castle to have that vantage point. Too easy to kill the gang members from there. Matt took up a place near the door and so coldcocked the first guy through the door. Hell, he’d practically run into Matt’s fist.

Physics was a bitch.

The second guy to come through, though, he was more cautious and he managed to get in a few punches.

Brass knuckles? Also a bitch. That was going to leave a mark.

The gang members started coming through the door - maybe three of them, not counting the one on the ground.

It was probably about this time that Castle probably realized that Matt was going to do his best to spoil any possible shot; Matt heard him come down from the loft, his heart beating a little faster than normal.

Matt heard another car squeal to a stop outside, more feet pounding up the steps to the building they were inside. The ones who were coming had guns, too; Matt could smell them.

The smell of guns, disturbingly, reminded Matt of Castle, of the night before, of moments that could have gone very differently, and he -

Brass Knuckles Guy took advantage of Matt’s momentary distraction to land a few solid punches, and Matt turned his attention back where it belonged.

The next few minutes were something of a blur of fists and kicks and blows landed; it was all Matt could do to keep up.

The roar of gunfire in the building brought everything to a brief halt. When Matt finally managed to take stock of his situation, he realized that Frank was on the ground, a guy with a gun standing over him. Matt went cold but, no, he was still alive. Bleeding, yes, but alive.

Castle had managed to deal with several of their opponents before they’d taken him down, though Matt noted that they all still had heartbeats.

Huh.

Unfortunately, there were still people left, and Matt was flagging. It felt like he couldn’t get enough oxygen from his rasping, gasping breaths, and… yeah, he was definitely bleeding.

“You’re a hell of a fighter.” That was Malone. “Guess you get that from your old man, huh?”

“Wouldn’t know the son of a bitch was blind.” Brass Knuckles.

“Nah, Pauly, you just don’t know how to duck.”

Matt didn’t say anything, just spat a mouthful of blood into the floor. Shit, had they knocked loose a tooth? He probed at it with his tongue, but no. All good.

Brass Knuckles - Pauly - countered, “Well, we’re here to take him out, right?”

“Yeah.” Malone stepped closer, and he had a gun now. Must have gotten it from one of his men. Matt felt the gun press against his temple. “Keep you from sticking your lawyer nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“What the fuck kind of law school did he go to, though?” Pauly persisted.

Matt inhaled a deep breath, or at least he tried to; it felt like his lungs were on fire. “Columbia.”

“Didn’t teach that kicking shit at Columbia.”

“His dad was Battlin’ Jack Murdock,” Malone said, sounding annoyed. He shoved the gun a little harder against Matt’s head. “Right?”

“Yeah.” He thought about taking the gun away from Malone - Stick had taught him techniques for that, and he’d picked up some more on his own - but he wasn’t sure he could do it quickly enough. That wasn’t a move you wanted to get wrong.

Pauly said, “But boxers don’t -” Malone must have done something, maybe looked at him, because he cut off his words and said, “Never mind.”

Matt could hear Castle’s heart rate start to pick up a little, and he knew this needed to be finished quickly. If Castle was still out when Malone killed Matt, maybe they would let Castle live.

That’s what Matt told himself, at least, because it wasn’t like Malone was known for mercy.

No, if he wanted Castle to survive, Matt would have to get out of this situation and fast.

* * *

Frank slowly came to consciousness, his head throbbing.

Shit. The gang, and Red, and… _shit_ , what had happened? He kept his eyes closed and listened. What would Red be able to tell from what he could hear? There was a scraping sound by Frank’s head, so somebody was there.

Somebody who didn’t know Frank was awake.

Maybe the same somebody who had put him on the ground.

Frank cracked his eyes open just a bit. No, couldn’t see much, but there was definitely something going on.

“- bitch was making everything up,” Malone was saying, and Frank figured he was talking about that woman his cousin had hurt. Yeah, because making shit up about these assholes went so well for women. “Sammy didn’t touch her.”

“Sure.” That was Red, sounding like a cocky son of a bitch. Idiot was going to get himself killed; sure enough, there was the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and Red made a sound like he was trying not to groan.

Malone swore and then there was a scuffle, and Frank knew this was the time to attack. He opened his eyes and grabbed the asshole standing over him, taking him to the ground and beating the gun out of his hand.

Now Frank had the gun. Funny how it seemed to work out like that. He aimed at the guy on the ground - end it, so he couldn’t cause more trouble - but then he caught sight of Red.

Damn, he looked like hell. He was still upright, though he staggered back a step to lean against a wall.

Frank looked back down at the guy he’d put on the ground, sighed, and pulled zip ties out of his pocket, instead. Once he was done with that, he slipped his hoodie over his hand and grabbed the gun.

Soft. He was going soft, and it was Red’s fault. But Red sagged a little more against the wall, and Frank took a step in his direction.

“Red?”

“I’m fine. There’s another one -”

There was; Frank saw him cowering behind some folding chairs, sighed, stalked over, and knocked him to the ground with a thud. More zip ties. Another gun.

Red continued, “Or not. How did you get Malone’s gun?”

What? “I didn’t.”

“Well, it disappeared and then I -”

“Uh, hi? That was me.”

Frank looked up and there was somebody in the little balcony area. He’d automatically turned the gun on the newcomer before he realized how young he sounded, and then took note of the red and blue outfit.

Another fucking superhero. Great.

Red tipped his head to one side, listening. “Spider-Man?”

And then, as far as Frank could tell, the kid honest-to-god swung down from the balcony like fucking Tarzan. He grinned a little when he landed, but got more serious as he approached Frank and Red.

“Yeah. Are you okay? Oh, wow, you’re bleeding.”

“He’s fine,” Frank said because otherwise, Red would. He bent down and grabbed Red’s cane, then went over to press it into his hands. Might as well make it look real. He kept himself between Red and Spider-Man; he’d never heard anything bad about the kid, but better safe than sorry.

Red’s hands tightened around the cane. “I’m fine,” he agreed, and he even smiled a little.

“You look really… not fine, both of you.”

Frank looked Red up and down, already calculating how long it would take to get him to a medic they could trust. Maybe Curt; Red probably had somebody on speed-dial.

“You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.”

Frank scoffed. “You’re blind.” He bent down over Malone and did the zip tie thing again. “I got their guns, except Malone’s. Maybe the cops will get prints or something.”

“The cops?” Red echoed. His expression went a little soft; maybe it was the swelling.

Frank didn’t answer.

The kid cleared his throat. “I came because I heard Daisy barking, and then the guns,” Spider-Man said. “I got that guy’s gun with my web. It’s over there.” He indicated it and Frank went to collect it and add it to the pile. Spider-Man continued, “You should really be more careful, okay?” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Those guys aren’t from around here, but I’ve seen them around lately. Since you got here.”

Well, he wasn’t a dumb kid, that was for sure.

Red said, “Yeah, they were here looking for me.”

The kid came closer, and he definitely was a kid; his voice cracked a little when he said, “And you brought them here? To my neighborhood?”

“Well, in our defense, we didn’t know it was your neighborhood,” Red said.

Fucking lawyers. Frank heard Red make a sound that was almost a laugh. Huh, must have said that out loud.

“Kids live here,” Spider-Man continued. “They don’t need these guys driving down the street, looking at them, scaring them. Maybe doing worse.”

“Yeah, well we took care of them,” Frank said. He was tired and hurting and probably sounded like he didn’t give a shit, but he did. “And speaking of kids, you sound like one. It’s a school night. What are you doing running _toward_ gunfire on a fucking school night?”

“But you brought them here,” Spider-Man persisted. “And obviously you needed some help to _take care of them_.”

Frank shook his head a little and couldn’t help but smile. Spider-Man had some balls on him, okay. “School night,” he repeated.

“Mr. Castiglione, criminals don’t have a curfew, so I can’t, either.”

Kid sounded like Red. Next, he was going to go on about protecting his city. Frank drew in a breath to continue, and then it hit him.

Wait. _Wait_.

“I never told you who I am.”

The kid froze and, yeah. It was him. The neighbor kid, Cal’s friend. Hell, he’d even mentioned Daisy by name, and Frank hadn’t clued in. He was slipping.

“Uh,” said the kid - Peter. “Lucky guess?”

And then Red’s hand was on his arm, not tight but there, and Frank thought that maybe this kid wouldn’t want his identity out there, wouldn’t want two guys he didn’t know to have that intel. Maybe he’d figured out that Red was Daredevil - he seemed like a smart kid, and it wasn’t like Red could change his fighting style - but the kid still didn’t really _know_ them.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Must be.”

Red’s grip loosened and Frank almost sighed. Then he realized that Red was in the process of sliding down the wall, clearly not entirely conscious, and jumped to catch him. Frank had already been out; he guessed it was Red’s turn.

“Wow, he’s really not okay.” The kid stepped forward as if to help, but Frank shook his head.

“I got him.”

“Okay, but my - uh, I know somebody in the neighborhood who can help. She can see if he needs stitches or anything.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I used to be a Marine and he’s not too bad off. I can handle it.” The kid drooped a little and Frank relented, “But can you get the dog home? I can’t manage both of them and I don’t want to leave him alone to come back for her.”

The kid nodded. “You got it.”

Frank bent down to grab the cane from where Red had dropped it again and searched for a moment… yeah, there they were. Red’s glasses had survived the fight which was almost, to Frank’s mind, reason to believe in Red’s god. Then Frank hoisted one of Red’s arms over his shoulder. Carrying him would be too conspicuous, and they weren’t that far from Cal’s place.

By the time they made it back, Frank was hurting in places he’d forgotten he had, and the kid was waiting on the porch with Daisy. Frank did a little balancing act and got out the key, then opened the door and somehow got Red the last few steps to the couch. Daisy jumped up to sit next to him, resting her chin on Red’s knee.

The kid waited near the door. “Thanks,” Frank said. “For that and for back there.” He took a breath. Maria had said he should always admit it when he was in the wrong. Even with kids. Especially with kids. “And, look. Sorry we brought those guys here. It’s a tough situation. You mind calling the cops for me?”

“I can do that,” the kid replied.

“Thanks.”

Frank watched as he turned to go, and couldn’t help saying, “And go home. It’s a school night.”

The kid laughed, but he did turn in the direction of his house, so there was that.

Red groaned as Frank turned back to him.

“Hey, easy,” Frank said. “How bad are you hurt?” He wasn’t going to give Red the option of saying he was fine; he could see a bruise starting on his cheek; the skin had split over the bruise. That was probably just the start of it, knowing Red.

“Guy had brass knuckles,” Red muttered. “Pauly.” Frank figured he must not be completely with it; if he was, he wouldn’t have admitted to being injured.

“Oh, that asshole, yeah,” Frank replied. Red had curled in around his side, and Frank hunkered down to lift his shirt. Red didn’t even try to bat him away, which was concerning.

Okay, scars, some of them starkly pale against more bruises. Lots of scars. Some half-healed shit that was obviously not from today but still didn’t look great.

“You don’t need a bodyguard,” Frank muttered. “You need a fucking doctor.”

“Claire,” Red said. “But we didn’t fuck. And she’s a nurse. And Maggie sometimes, but definitely no fucking there. Ew.”

Well, no, fucking a nun would definitely not be Red’s thing.

Frank carefully pulled off Red’s glasses and set them on the table, then tried to get a look at his eyes. Pupils… okay. Not a lot of help. But at least they were even. That was something, right?

“You get hit in the head?” He didn’t say _again_ , but he thought it. He figured that could explain Red’s chattiness.

But no. “Not this time.”

Still, that was good. “Can you get your shirt off?”

“Mmmmmaybe.” He did, but it took some effort and left him pale and shaking. “That’s what I get for letting Karen pick out my shirts.”

While of course he was concerned for how much effort it took Red to take the shirt off, Frank couldn’t help but be a little smug about being right. Of course, it had been Karen.

He told himself to focus, though. Red was hurt. The cut on his cheek could use a couple butterfly stitches, which Frank had in his kit; the bruises on Red’s side worried him, though.

“Hold still,” he said, and he leaned in to run a hand along Red’s ribs. Red twitched a little right when Frank’s hand first touched him, but then he took a deep breath and seemed okay. He even smiled a little.

Frank did not let his hand linger, though he liked the feel of Red’s skin. It was softer than he expected. And despite the bruises and scars, he couldn’t help but notice that Red looked good. That parkour shit kept a guy in shape, Frank guessed.

“Don’t think anything’s broken.”

Red leaned closer. “I could have told you that.”

Fuck, only this guy could make being a know-it-all sexy. Frank lifted his head a little and Red was _right there_. He managed not to move away, but Red’s satisfied little smile made Frank think maybe his heart had done something.

“How about you?” Red asked. Frank hummed a question and Red asked, “How bad are you hurt?”

“I’m good.”

“Hey, you checked me over. Seems only fair I do the same.”

Frank scoffed. “What’s fair about any of this?”

Red shrugged, seeming to acknowledge the point, but didn’t say anything.

“You want me to take off my shirt?”

Red hesitated for a moment, then pulled on one of those smiles that Frank liked. “Like I said, only fair.”

“Not like you can look me over for cuts or whatever.”

Red’s smile widened. “You didn’t just look.”

So basically Red was saying he wanted to touch Frank. Which… okay, that sounded good. But then what? This whole trip, living together, whatever, it was a temporary thing.

It was a _job_ , though Frank felt a little uneasy about that.

Actually, since the gang had been taken care of, they could technically turn the key and the dog over to the neighbor kid - who was _Spider-Man_ , yeah - and leave.

Go back to their own apartments.

Alone.

“Well?” Red asked.

_Fuck it._

Frank took a deep breath and pulled off his shirt. He tensed his muscles a little, the better to show them off, then relaxed when it clicked that Red wasn’t seeing them. Sometimes it was hard to remember what Red could and couldn’t do.

Red slid over and made room for Frank on the couch, so Frank sat. Red started with Frank’s arms, running light fingers over biceps and shoulders, then along Frank’s chest. He caught each sore spot, each cut, but Frank really wasn’t that bad off. Red’s expression went a little thoughtful, but then he seemed to realize that Frank was looking at him, and he smiled.

“Nice.”

Frank scoffed.

Red continued his gentle, thorough exploration: chest down to abs, then up along his back, then finally to Frank’s face. Here he found the tender spot under Frank’s temple, likely the hit that took him down. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah.”

Red leaned in to brush his lips against the spot and Frank was torn between amusement at the gesture - so like things he’d done for his kids countless times - and a feeling that had absolutely nothing to do with kids.

Then Red moved to Frank’s cheeks. “Different,” he said, rubbing a thumb over the stubble. “Not sure if I like this or the beard better.” He slipped one hand to the back of Frank’s neck and urged him a little closer.

Maybe it was just that feeling you got after a fight, wanting to feel alive because you didn’t die. Frank didn’t know. But he could tell what Red wanted and, hell, he wanted it, too. Frank leaned in and kissed him, soft at first but then with a little more force, and Red responded in kind.

They went on in that way for a little while and then Red got to his feet. He seemed to sense Frank’s puzzlement and caught at his hand, pulling Frank along as he went toward the bedroom.

_Oh_. Well, yes, that made sense. Daisy should have the couch to herself for a change.

Frank hesitated, though. “You sure?” he asked when Red turned. He was the one with the Catholic hangups, after all, and the Church didn’t exactly smile on what Frank had in mind for the rest of the night.

But Red just smiled. “Definitely.”


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Frank return to Hell's Kitchen.

Tuesday.

It was Tuesday, and Matt sat at his desk, and part of him wished he was still in Queens. Would wonders never cease?

After a night that had been pretty active for how concussed he and Frank probably had been, they’d gotten up early and returned to the Kitchen. The drive back had been quiet, but Matt had been tired and Frank never was one for talking.

When they’d stopped at Matt’s place, he’d waited; it had felt like Frank wanted to say something. But all he’d said was, “See you around, Red.”

So that was it. Fine. Matt had gotten a shower, changed, and gotten to work before Foggy or Karen, still daydreaming a little about the night before.

Foggy and Karen arrived together. “Yeah, got a text from Brett last night that they’d been brought in,” Foggy was saying. “Go figure, huh?”

“Oh, hey, Matt,” Karen called. “Wasn’t expecting you in today, or at least not yet.”

The two of them came in and Foggy said, “Well, let’s see… only one visible injury. Not a bad night, then. Did Castle really not kill any of those guys?”

“Apparently not,” Matt replied. That had been what _he_ had been thinking about during the drive home. Well, that and the way Frank had…

“Matt, are you blushing?” Of course, Karen noticed. “How’d you and Frank get along, huh? A whole long weekend to yourselves?”

“There was also a dog,” Matt pointed out.

“You’re even redder now,” Foggy said, and Matt was somehow less than grateful for his friend’s tendency to narrate, usually so helpful.

He heard a chair squeak a little as Karen settled into it. “Come on, spill.”

Foggy’s phone made a sound and, after a moment, he let out a low whistle. “What the hell,” he breathed. “Frank Castle just returned the payment for the bodyguard job.” Matt could all but feel Foggy staring at him.

He couldn’t make his brain work to come up with a reason why Frank had returned the money, though. He needed the cash; Matt was sure of it. Being the Punisher didn’t even pay in pie.

“Okay, I’m texting him,” Karen said.

“Hey, Karen, don’t,” Matt protested. “Whatever the reason, it was his choice. He doesn’t need you bugging him.”

“How the worm has turned,” Foggy teased.

Matt sighed. “I never… really disliked Frank Castle.”

“Not even when he shot you in the head?” Karen quipped.

“Okay, so that was a low point, yeah.”

Foggy just exhaled a soft noise that sounded amused, maybe a little disbelieving. “Well, I think we should get lunch today courtesy of the Frank Castle Bodyguard Fund. And we can save the rest for the next time Matty pisses off the wrong people.”

“Lunch!” Karen agreed.

Matt sighed but nodded. “Sounds good. The lunch part, at least. I don’t plan on pissing anybody off.”

“You never do,” Foggy said, which sounded like a compliment at first, but then…

“Hey!”

Karen just laughed and leaned over his desk. “Aw.”

Matt tipped his head at her. “What?”

“Just checking for hickeys!” She laughed and Matt shooed her and Foggy off so they could _get some work done_.

Of course, the marks that Frank had left weren’t on his neck, so Karen wouldn’t see them anyway.

Matt tolerated their teasing through the morning, then during lunch, and then sporadically through the rest of the afternoon, until it was finally time to leave. By then, he was heartily sick of the little comments - all in fun, of course, but no less irritating for all that.

It didn’t help his mood when, stepping into his office to say goodbye, Karen started singing, “And Iiiiii will always love yoooooou.”

“Karen, no,” Foggy protested. “Whitney and Dolly, yes. There are even some other covers that aren't bad. But please. No.”

“Come on, I had to,” Karen replied, obviously not bothered by Foggy’s critique of her singing. “Matt, did you know that Kevin Costner’s character in that movie was named _Frank_?”

Matt sighed as he got to his feet, though he summoned a smile for appearance’s sake. “Does that make me Whitney Houston?”

“If you want to be,” Karen replied, a shrug in her voice. “Frank’s way hotter than Costner, though.”

Matt pulled on his jacket and grabbed his cane and his bag, making it obvious he was preparing to leave. “I wouldn’t know.” He was pretty sure Karen was right, though.

“Well, Matt’s hotter than Whitney,” Foggy said staunchly, and Matt had to laugh at that and at Karen’s firm agreement.

“Well, thank you. I’m going to head out now, though. You can continue to discuss my hotness in my absence.” He grinned at them and stepped out the door, though he had to shake his head when Karen wolf-whistled after him. “Sexual harassment,” he called over his shoulder, though in obvious jest.

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just say, _Fine, we had sex._ It wasn’t like he was ashamed. He just wasn’t sure what it meant, or if it even meant anything. The lack of conversation during the drive from Queens could have been Frank not wanting to say it was a one-time thing, but it also could have been Frank just being Frank.

Maybe Matt wanted to keep last night to himself. If he’d told Karen and Foggy, they would have wanted… probably not _details_ , but to talk about it. And they might not be so approving if it was an actual thing - whatever thing _it_ was - rather than a hypothetical. Well, Karen would approve, but maybe not Foggy; his negative response was one of the few things that could shake Matt.

So, no, Matt didn’t want to talk about it. Well, not to Foggy and Karen, at least. He made his way out to the sidewalk and started toward home.

Frank got him, Matt decided, in a way nobody had gotten him since Elektra. That was what he liked about Frank. Funny, he and Elektra were similar, but also so different.

Well, shit. Matt did have a type.

And Frank had returned the payment. Matt wanted to know why. He pulled out his phone, but then realized he didn’t have Frank’s number and frowned. Well, only one way to deal with this. He altered course slightly and headed for Frank’s place, hoping he would be home.

* * *

Frank frowned a little as he put away his tools. His apartment wasn’t tiny or anything, not for a New York apartment, but it felt huge, even though it was smaller than Cal’s place.

Maybe it was the dog. Frank had gotten used to having Daisy around. He thought about maybe going to an animal shelter or something, but he was gone a lot, probably wouldn’t be able to take good care of a dog.

A cat would be more independent, better able to cope with being left alone, but Frank didn’t want a cat. Definitely not a fish, and hamsters bit too much. Frankie’d had a hamster - named Kermit, for whatever reason - and the little thing had about bit Frank’s finger off.

No, no pets. Frank could deal with being alone. He’d done it all this time, after all.

He opened up a kitchen cabinet and started thinking about dinner when someone knocked at the door. The neighbors had started sending their kids to ask Frank for help when something broke in their apartments. Apparently, word had spread that he was less likely to say no to a kid, which… well, was accurate.

Still, he almost didn’t answer. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before - not that he was complaining - and was thinking about a quick dinner and then maybe a book.

The knock sounded again. Damn persistent kids. Frank sighed and opened the door, saying, “Whatever it is, it can wait -”

Oh. Red.

He stood there in his lawyer clothes, tie loose, top button of his shirt undone. He looked maybe nervous, maybe uncertain, like he was thinking about taking off.

“I can go,” he said, the hand holding the folded-up cane gesturing down the hall behind him.

“Nah. I thought you were a neighbor kid wanting to ask me to fix something.”

Red didn’t look like that cleared things up for him. “Well, if you’re fixing things, my kitchen faucet has this drip, keeps me up at night.”

Right, because of those senses of his. Frank almost suggested a better way to keep Red up at night; from that thing Red did with his mouth, either Frank had somehow given himself away or Red was thinking it, too.

Frank pulled the door open wider. “Come on in, if you want.”

Red nodded and did so.

“Chair’s right in front of you if you want to sit,” Frank added. Why was he being so fucking polite? Red didn’t say anything, and Frank asked, “What, did I accidentally pack some of your stuff?”

Red smiled a little. “Don’t think so, but I haven’t unpacked yet. I just, uh. Foggy mentioned you sent back the payment for the job.”

Nelson, the rat. Why couldn’t he have kept that to himself? “Yeah.”

Red’s eyebrows dropped below the top of his glasses. “Okay. Why?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Frank had done it on impulse more than anything else. “I didn’t do the job.”

“What do you mean?”

“They knocked me out, and some fucking high school kid had to step in.”

Red shook his head. “Sure, he helped, but I could have gotten out of that without him.”

Frank scoffed. “Yeah, because that situation was going great. Nah, I dropped the ball -” He paused a moment, shook his head, and added, “And then I didn’t kill them.”

“But that’s a good thing,” Red protested. “But… why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t because of you,” Frank said, and Red tipped his head a little. Shit, human lie detector. Frank had forgotten. “Okay, maybe a little because of you.” Red smiled, and Frank just shook his head. “They didn’t have to die, I guess. But if they come after you again, then I’m killing them for sure.”

“I’m still not asking you to change.”

“I know. And I’m not. This wasn’t me changing. This was a one-time deal. Plus, I didn’t want to take them out in front of the kid.”

Red’s smile had widened while Frank was speaking. “Okay, Frank.”

“It’s traumatic, and you know Spider-Man has seen some shit. Damn, a teenager. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Red used his foot to scoot out the other chair and Frank sat down. “You’re a good guy, Frank.”

Frank was torn between being touched and wanting Red to take it back.

But Red, of course, hadn’t stopped talking. “So it wasn’t about the sex?”

Frank stared at him, puzzled, until it clicked. “Oh. You mean sending the money back to Nelson?” Red nodded. Huh. Frank hadn’t really thought about that. The sex had been after the job had been finished, of course. “You think Nelson was paying me to have sex with you?”

“What? No! I mean, Karen, maybe, but not Foggy.”

Frank nodded. Yeah, he could see Karen doing that. “But she didn’t. And Nelson didn’t. The money was to be a bodyguard, and I was a shit bodyguard, so. No money.”

Red leaned across the table. “You were a good bodyguard, though. Not that I needed one, but you got me out of the Kitchen, and there’s no way I would have done that on my own.”

“Yeah, and then you snuck out to deal with some morons and I had no idea.”

“You did, though. You were gearing up to come after me when I got back, right?”

Frank hummed an affirmative.

“So you did good.”

“Not that you needed a bodyguard.”

“Not that I needed a bodyguard.”

Frank shook his head. Red was stubborn, but that was one of the things Frank liked about him. He’d fight for what he believed in, wouldn’t quit if he thought he was in the right.

Frank still thought he’d done a shit job, and he wasn’t sorry he had returned the money, but he knew he’d never convince Red. So instead he asked, “You eat?”

Red shook his head, with another of those smiles. “No. You?”

“Not yet. Want to go grab some dinner?” Red nodded and they both got to their feet. “And then maybe after I can help you with that dripping faucet. Wouldn’t want it to keep you up tonight.”

“No, there are better ways to stay up.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Red chuckled as they left Frank’s apartment, then slipped his hand into the crook of Frank’s arm after Frank locked up.

Frank was pretty sure he didn’t need to do it, that he could perceive the world around him well enough, but he wasn’t going to complain. He didn’t even object when Red began to lay out a detailed argument for a particular Thai place for dinner, but instead just smiled and nodded.

Red would get what he wanted in the long run, and Frank found that he didn’t mind at all.

But this time, Frank was paying for dinner.


End file.
